Legends
by bellamysgirl
Summary: Sara Riley, the first female super soldier, was pronounced missing in action in 1945 after the tragic death of her teammate, a man she loved. Hidden from the world, she slept in ice to escape her grief. Little did she know someone would wake her up seventy years later.
1. Prologue: Welcome To The New Age

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so exhilarated. Her heart rocketed from a slow lull to a rabbit-paced drum in less than a minute. A rush of air flooding into her lungs. She was awake. More importantly, she was alive.

Her body lurched into a forward motion. Arms propelling, splashing in a space where there was once hard ice. Creating a smooth surface around her form. She'd not moved in too long. She was out of practice.

Body shaking, clamoring, the chamber beneath her tipped to its side, splashing its contents to the concrete floor holding it up. Her palms burned against the rough surface as she splattered to the ground on her stomach.

There was a voice, she heard it. But it was a hazy fog, as if it were being voiced through a tin can. So her eyes moved up in one swift motion, landing directly on the man standing over her. His features were contorted into a horrified expression.

He took a step back, appalled at his discovery. But he ran a hand back over his trodden down silver hair and took a deep breath. "Hold on- don't move," he said, speaking quickly as he took steps back. "I'll be right back."

And in a second he was gone. Out the large rolling door to the warehouse. Nothing was making sense. It was all a thick cloud at the front of her mind. She pushed down on the concrete beneath her and forced the strength back into her trembling muscles.

Ever so slowly moving her knees beneath her, one by one, until she could sit up. She hadn't heard the scuffling of the man running back in. Dashing across the empty space with a towel-like blanket. He had great intentions in draping it across her shoulders.

He was only trying to help her. But her instincts overruled her mind, gaining her footing enough to stand and grabbing him by his neck. Holding tightly enough to cut off a substantial amount of oxygen. "Hey, hey- I'm trying to...help you," he sputtered.

"Where am I?" she questioned.

He grasped at her hand, only causing her to tighten her grip, so he remained as still as possible. Trying desperately not to panic and make her do something rash. "Wood...Woodstock...Woodstock, Connecticut," he replied, as best he could.

"Who are you? Why did you wake me up?" Her words cut like knives. They were coated in defensive undertones that could pierce bone. "What do you want with me?"

"I didn't know...I swear...I didn't know...please!"

With her hand on his neck, giving enough pressure, she could feel his pulse. Tell if he was speaking the truth. And in fact, he was. So she let her hand fall to her side. He gasped in oxygen as he took quick steps back from her.

Holding his sore neck gingerly with his hands and sputtering. The adrenaline was seeping through her, right through her toes, leaving her with a twitching numbness that crippled her bones. Her feet were unsteady.

The ground had to have been moving. But when her knees slammed into the ice cold concrete, the ground was perfectly still. It had never been truly moving. Though her head still spun. Her lips were the only things she could move as her eyes remained closed.

Her body rocking in a slight movement forward and back. Its instinctual reaction to the flooding anxiety breaking loose within her chest cavity. "My name is Sergeant Sara Riley, US Army, serial number one-one-seven-zero-six-zero-three-zero-one."

It was a mantra. Trembling across her lips over and over and over. The man she'd nearly choked to death was inherently terrified due to her display. But even he had ears. He heard her words. More specifically, the mentioning of the military.

Trembling slightly himself, he took a step forward. "Miss? Miss, I can help you," he tried, speaking in a calm voice. The calmest he could muster. "I can help you get home, wherever that is. But you have to let me."

"Stay away from me," she all but hissed. Moving her hands up to cover her ears. Continuing her mantra. All she wanted was to go back. Get back in the chamber and go under again. But she couldn't make herself move. It was like her bones were stuck.

Frozen in their own tundra right there on the floor. Her body was shaking, trembling from the cold of the breeze blowing through the open door just a few yards away. "Please, Miss...I'm not leaving you here to die," the man continued, surely.

"Take me back!" she said, her voice just below a shout. She whirled in her position to see the man just feet from her. Anger, fear, sadness, all tangled together in her eyes. The man was confused. Stopping his forward movement in anticipation of another assault.

His eyebrows creased. "I'm sorry?"

"Take me back! Put me under!"

"I'm- I'm sorry, I...I can't," he shook his head. The heat in her chest burned up her throat and to her eyes, forcing out streams of boiling liquid against her ice cold skin. Racking her body with a single sob as she hunched over her knees yet again.

Holding her eyes closed. Rocking herself to stay calm. But it wasn't working. The pain in her chest felt like a steel knife dug deep into the tissue. As if that knife were being twisted in a slow and painful circle. And she screamed.

Through her tears, she screamed, so hard she tasted blood. She gripped her sopped hair in an attempt to anchor herself to something. It was like he was dead all over again. Like she was watching him fall from the train. Down to that endless valley of snow.

And, just like the first time, she was totally and completely helpless to stop it. Forced to watch. Over and over as it was looped inside her tightly closed eyelids. The man feet from her was feeling quite helpless as well.

He didn't know what to do. But an idea sparked his mind and he was gone. Leaving her alone to cry silent tears as she rocked herself. Failing to will the pain away. To will herself back to the nineteen forties. Back to the war.

When she had friends. When her parents were alive and well and happy. When her best friend's best friend was quickly becoming her own. Life made sense then. It was relatively painless. And it was full of happiness.

Not long later and the man returned. Walking fast but slowing his pace as he approached. He knelt a foot from her. "I have something...I think it's yours," he said, before holding out his hand. In his palm were two lightly rusted dog tags.

There was enough strength in her curiosity to pull her head up. To make her bloodshot eyes see what he had to offer her. They flickered to his face upon seeing the tags in his hand. "Where did you get those?" she asked, semi quietly.

"They were in the back room. I didn't know who they belonged to, but you said your name was Sara Riley. That's what these say," he explained. "I reckon you have quite the story to tell. What do you say you tell me how you got here over a nice hot meal in some dry clothes?"

Her trembling fingers snatched the tags from his hand. Dancing her thumb across the withered metal. "Where?" she croaked, her voice hoarse.

"I live just up the street. My wife should be just finishing up making dinner. I'm sure she wouldn't mind a guest, as long as you promised to keep your hands to yourself, that is," he answered her.

Sara pulled the silver chain over her head. The tags clanking together at the tempo of her trembling hands. Metal against her chest was a familiar feeling. And it felt so much better to have that sensation again.

Though it could never repair the deep gouge left in her chest. Her response to him was a nod. He knew any moment could be his last. But he offered a hand to her as he stood. Being the gentleman he was, he wasn't about to let his fear make him rude.

She took the offering and he helped her to her feet, plucking the blanket from the ground and wrapping it around her shoulders. Her fingers held it closed near her abdomen. Keeping in what little warmth she might have left. "Let's get you warm, yeah?" he said.

"Thank you," she nodded again, following his lead toward the open exit. Her eyes were blinded by the stark contrast in lighting between the insides of the warehouse to the outside sunset. She squinted hard. But she managed to see the man's vehicle fine.

It was a light blue. But the color wasn't what caused her pause just feet from the machine. It was its design. The change in structure sent a spark of something into her brain. Something unreadable. And she whirled to see the warehouse at her back.

It looked old and withered. The front windows broken in and covered in dust. The door looked to be just barely hanging on it's hinges. "What year is it?" she suddenly asked, speaking loud enough to be heard on the opposite side of the vehicle.

The man paused, standing at his door. "Two thousand eleven."


	2. Chapter One: Just A Legend

PRESENT

She readjusted her position, staring out the window in the backseat of the taxi cab. New York was not at all how it used to look. How it should look. At least, in Sara's mind. There were so many lights. So many flashing signs.

The grungy feeling of the people and buildings was something entirely new and different. She sighed and looked to the space between the front seats. Cars looked to be backed up for many blocks amidst the pouring rain of the morning.

"Is there another road we can take?" she asked the driver.

He twisted to see her from the front seat, shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, miss."

"I'll just walk," she decided, puling her satchel onto her shoulder. "Thanks anyway." She tossed a fold of cash in his general direction and practically rolled from the car. The anxiety bubbling up in her chest would not allow her to wait.

So her feet moved her. First walking. Then jogging. Then, before she knew it, she was sprinting. The rain was soaking through her pitifully thin denim jacket/hoodie combo. Dampening right through to her skin. But she pressed on.

Dodging people with umbrellas. Darting across the packed street and around hoods of cars stuck in the traffic. With her fast pace it didn't take her long to arrive at her destination. Stark Tower. Her feet skidded to a halt before the door.

Looking up at the building through the water droplets pelting the sensitive skin of her face. You need to be here, she reminded herself. There is a point to this pain. Seeing or hearing about the Stark family was nothing but a reminder of what she'd lost.

Howard Stark was like a brother to her in so many ways. She never thought freezing herself would cost her so many people she loved. Taking in a thick breath, puffing out fog, she continued on inside the building.

The interior looked sleek and modern. Chrome and white being the main furniture features. There was a desk, large and round, three yards in from the front door. A sign sat atop it that read, 'receptionist', inches away from a woman eyeing a computer screen.

Her fingers were typing along, clicking her mouse rapidly. She was obviously busy. Sara made a straight line for her. "Excuse me," she said, arriving at the desk. "I need to see Tony Stark."

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist inquired. Her eyes only looked up for a short moment. Just long enough to rake over Sara's wet appearance with a disgusted expression. Sara's shoulders dropped a little. "Um...no. But-" she tried.

"I'm sorry. But if you don't have an appointment, you can't be here," the woman said, uninterested, not even looking now. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave and come back when you've made one."

Sara's jaw clenched. "I don't think you understand. I know him. Well, his father. He probably knows about me. Just phone up to his office and tell him I'm here."

"Ma'am, please leave the building before I have to call security to escort you out."

"My name is Sara Riley, Howard Stark was my friend," Sara pressed. She stood rooted to the spot, knuckles turning white where her fingers gripped the edge of the desk's marble top. The receptionist, Carol, by the look of her nametag, sighed.

She reached for the phone base looking intercom on the desk. "I'm calling security," she announced. Angered by this, Sara balled her fingers into a fist and brought it down atop the machine, breaking it into pieces.

The pieces scattered across the desk. Some even clattered to the floor. Carol lurched back in shock with a gasp, clutching a manicured hand to the chest of her pantsuit. "Excuse me, what is going on here?" A woman passing by stepped over to the desk.

With her ginger hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her figure accentuated by her white blouse and black pencil skirt. Sara glared at Carol a moment before looking to this new woman. "I need to see Tony Stark," she explained. "It's urgent."

"Okay. And who are you?" the woman asked, calmly.

Sara inhaled to calm herself, tried to match the woman's tone. "I was a friend of Howard Stark. I'm certain he must've told Tony about me. But this woman won't let me in."

"Hm. Come with me." The woman gestured for Sara to follow as she turned on her expensive looking pumps, starting a stride in the other direction, around the backside of the desk. Sara quickly followed right behind.

She followed her to the silver elevators near the back wall. The woman glanced over her shoulder. "Why are you all wet?" she asked, just noticing Sara's soaked clothing.

"I ran here," Sara answered.

The woman pressed the button beside the elevators and a door opened almost instantly. Sara followed the woman inside. "You ran?" the woman was surprised. "Where did you come from?"

"Connecticut. But I only ran about six blocks."

The door closed as the woman mulled over her humorous use of the word 'only'. As the elevator car ascended, small and casual questions were uttered. Such as inquiring how Sara knew Howard. "We worked together," Sara answered.

Though it wasn't the whole truth, it was still truth. It just wasn't adding in all of the details. She feared if she added those in before speaking to Tony, she'd get herself thrown out of the building and straight into an insane asylum.

Given the top secret nature of her service, no one knew her name back then. And no one knows now. So she kept her mouth shut on that subject. It only took a moment to get to the top floor anyway. The woman led the way through a hall.

Sara realized she hadn't gotten her name. "Who are you?" she asked, abruptly. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Sara a moment before answering, "Pepper Potts."

"Are you and Tony friends?" Sara asked, curiously. Pepper chuckled lightly as they stopped at a glass door. She turned to Sara with a smile. "Something like that," she answered. "Now, I have to warn you, he's an acquired taste."

Sara smiled dryly. "Sounds like Howard."

Pepper pushed opened one of the glass doors, holding it for Sara to enter as she spoke. "Tony? Someone's here to see you," Pepper announced. She let the door fall closed behind Sara and started for the desk near the back wall of the large office.

Tony was just finishing up a phone call when they'd entered. He looked worn, tired, Sara observed. But she also noticed the strong resemblance to Howard. The same dark hair, basic rugged looks, even the sound of the voice she heard next. "Who is it?" he questioned, tiredly.

"Um...she says she knew Howard?" Pepper said, sounding unsure.

Sara took slow steps toward the desk. "Mr. Stark? My name is Sara Riley," she said. She stopped about a yard from the desk. The mention of the name caused Tony's head to snap up, his eyes to immediately find hers.

She was taken aback by the intensity of his features. He was quiet a moment. Stunned into silence by her arrival. "You. My father...he told me about you," Tony recounted, slowly getting to his feet. "I thought you were just a legend."

"Wait a minute, you mean you're the woman Howard froze in a capsule back in the forties?" Pepper questioned, stunned and confused.

Sara nodded a little. "That's me."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "But that's impossible. Because there's no evidence Sara Riley existed," he reasoned, unbelieving. "How could someone that never existed be standing in my office? Pepper, call security and have her escorted out."

The Sergeant's shoulders dropped. A small scoff escaped her, at his words. "You don't believe me?" Her fingers quickly tugged her dog tags over her head as she marched forward. Then she slammed the tags on the desk before him.

She righted herself once she did, holding her chin up, "My name is Sergeant Sara Riley, serial number one-one-seven-zero-six-zero-three-zero-one. Member of the US Army from nineteen thirty-eight to nineteen forty-five."

Tony's eyes moved down to the tags a moment. Then back up to hers as she finished speaking. "Why are you here?" he asked her, seriously. Still not entirely sure of her. "What do you want?"

"I need to find Steve Rogers. From what I've read in the papers, you know him," Sara explained.

Tony reached for his phone. "I'll do you one better. I have his number," Tony chuckled. Adding sarcastically, "He's gonna love me for this." His fingers typed in the right number and he held the phone to his ear.

He stepped from side to side in a sarcastic gesture as it rang. Then he sucked in a breath as the other end picked up. "Hey, pal. It's Tony Stark. I have a woman here in my office right now that says she knows you. So if you could get your butt down here as soon as possible that would be great...yeah...okay, great."

Tony dropped the phone back on the base and slid his hands in his pockets. "He'll be here in about thirty minutes," he announced.

Pepper stepped closer to Sara, drawing her attention. "Are you cold? Maybe I could get you some dry clothes?"

"Thank you," Sara nodded once. "That would be great."

Pepper nodded and was out of the room before another word could be said. Leaving Tony and Sara in the office alone. Sara looked back to him, standing behind his desk, and narrowed her eyes. "What did Howard tell you about me?"

"He said you were in a freezer, that he put you there...and that you were like his sister," Tony answered, slow to add the last of the sentence.

Sara's eyebrow arched. "And it's that hard to believe I'm real after Steve Rogers was found?"

"In my defense, you were like a ghost story when I was a kid," Tony responded, holding up a hand palm out. "Okay? I haven't heard your name since he died."

Her eyes became downcast at that. She'd heard about it months ago. But it still left a sting. Knowing he was yet another person she couldn't say goodbye to. Tell them she cared, and that she loved them, one last time.

It didn't take long for Pepper to arrive back at the office with new clothes. And after sifting through to find something decent, Sara was directed to the bathroom down the hall from the office to change. She tried to imagine the conversation happening, without her present, while she dressed. Probably something about how crazy she was.

Tony didn't seem particularly friendly. Though, Pepper did say he was an acquired taste. Maybe that was what she meant? Either way, temperamentally, he wasn't much like Howard at all.

Howard was always a lot more easy going. At least when he was with Sara. Sara would've liked to have met Tony's mother. Finally see what kind of woman it took to claim such an untamable man. Mister 'I only focus on work' himself. If work was examining women, he was a master at his trade.

Sara eyed herself in the mirror. Tried to iron out her sopped hair with her fingers like a comb. Though it didn't work much. So she let it be with a huff and headed back to the office.

When Sara arrived back at the office, she went to the desk and retrieved her dog tags, pulled them over her head. There was no way she was letting someone else have them. They were a part of her now. They had been since nineteen thirty-eight.

"That's much better," Pepper commented, with a small smile. "Purple looks good on you."

"So I've been told," Sara nodded.

"Where have you been?" Tony asked, suddenly, regaining his serious demeanor.

She turned to him, her expression sobering. "I was with a family...with the man that woke me up. They helped me a lot. Told me what had changed. Who was gone."

"Have you been to New York before?" Pepper inquired.

Sara shook her head. "Steve said he was from Brooklyn. But I've never even been in the state."

"Where are you from?" Pepper asked.

"Connecticut."

A sudden buzz from the phone base on the desk stopped everyone. Tony's eyes shifted down to it as the receptionist's voice came through. "Mr. Stark, there's a Steve Rogers here to see you," she said.

He pressed the button on the base. "Send him up."

Sara's heart was beginning to race at the thought of seeing her friend again. One she hadn't seen in seventy years. Though it only felt like a minute to her. A short moment of black nothingness before she was forced into the light. Almost like being born all over again. And in some ways that was true. She did feel like a completely different person now. Like she didn't quite know herself as well as she used to.

The sound of the door opening behind her, caused her to turn around. And for a split second, she'd forgotten how to breathe. There he was. Steve was frozen just a few feet inside the door, staring in disbelief. "Sara?" he asked, taken aback by her presence. He couldn't believe it. She was back.

Sara couldn't move. His arrival brought back so many memories. It was almost too much for her brain to comprehend all at once. She opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out but a strangled sob. She rushed forward and he did the same, meeting in the middle, winding their arms around each other tightly.

His face buried in her neck, breathing in the damp smell of some kind of flower on her skin, the tinge of chemical to the clothes she wore. Sara's teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to keep herself from crying, but it didn't stop the silent tears streaming her fair cheeks.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, his chin on her shoulder. "I thought you were dead." He was on the verge of tears himself, forcing them back behind the rims of his eyes to get the words out.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry," Sara muttered, coming out mumbled through her tears.

"It's okay, Em. It's okay. You're here now, that's all that matters." Comforting this girl had never been something he'd done. So needless to say, Steve had no idea what to say to her other than that. She pulled away suddenly.

Her eyes scanned his face, loosing a light and airy chuckle. "You look exactly the same."

"So do you," he replied, with a small smile. "What are the odds we'd both come out of ice looking twenty-five?" She laughed a little at that. But a silence settled in between them. Not an awkward one, or a weird one. A comfortable one.

After a moment, she sniffled and wiped away the last of her tears. Pulling herself back together as she stepped back from him. He took a deep breath. "Are you hungry? We could go get something to eat?"

She nodded a little. "Yeah. That sounds nice."

"Have you had Thai food yet? It's on my list but I haven't had time to get some."

"I haven't. But I heard it's worth trying."

"Great. We've got a lot to catch up on. Seventy year's worth, actually." He put his arm around her shoulders, and she willingly leaned into his side. Before they took a step Steve looked up to see Tony over her head.

He gave a solid nod to the Stark. "Thank you." But there were more silent words passed long. Thank you for calling me. Thank you for believing her. Thank you for bringing her back to me.

Tony's response was a thumb held up and a forced small smile. The typical look of someone trying not to show that they care. When in fact he cared a great deal. About everyone, and everything.

Steve took Sara to a small restaurant just outside of China Town. It was mostly empty, so speaking openly about their situation was acceptable.

After they ordered and the waiter disappeared behind the beaded curtain leading into the kitchen at the back of the building, they were able to speak. Steve took in a breath. He sat in the booth seat across from her. Fiddling with a napkin. "I'm not even sure really what to say," he admitted, exhaling. "Em, no one's blaming you for what you did."

Her eyes shifted up to his. "But I did it. I abandoned you," she replied, with a slight tremble. "I left you to mourn the loss of your best friend alone. What kind of person does that?"

"The kind that's in a lot of pain."

"That's no excuse."

Steve leaned his crossed arms on the table top between them, "Sara. I know you better than I do myself. You did what you felt you had to do. I understand, okay? I understand completely."

Her eyes welled up a bit staring into his. But they darted away as a wrist came up to dry them with her shirt sleeve. Steve sat back in his seat. Watching her closely. A saddened Sara Riley wasn't what he was used to seeing.

She'd shed a tear all those years ago, when their mission went terribly wrong. When they both lost their best friend. But it'd only lasted a second and she was gone. Little did he know, she'd gone to ask Howard Stark to kill her.

Now, in the present, he noticed she looked different. Just a slight change. No one but someone who really knew her appearance would see it. Her hair was dry, almost like she'd straightened it. Though she never needed to. It was always naturally pin straight. She had to fight to get any curl she could manage.

Her eyes were tired. Crinkled at the edges constantly, purple, puffy bags beneath her eyes. She obviously hadn't slept much, if at all. Her shoulders seemed to naturally slump forword. Like she didn't even try to hold them up anymore.

That night was difficult. He'd offered her his bed while he slept on the couch. But he was there for less than an hour before he was thrust awake by a shrill scream. When he sped into the bedroom, she was thrashing the blanket off and sobbing uncontrollably.

He went to her immediately. Crawling into the bed beside her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her small form against his broad chest. She still thrashed out an arm or a leg but, after a moment, she calmed to ragged breathing and trembling limbs.

Her night terrors had begun shortly after waking up in the twenty-first century. They varied subjects nightly, never the same one twice, never allowing her to anticipate and prepare herself for their plots. Steve leaned back against the head board on an exhale.

His hand moved soothingly slow up and down her back near her shoulder blades. Trying to calm the both of them at this point. Waking up to a blood curdling scream wasn't something he was used to, and it jarred his bones.

But as the terrifying moment passed by in minutes, her breathing leveled and slowed as she drifted into sleep again, curled into his chest in a mess of the sheets she'd kicked to high heaven. Though Steve stayed wide awake.

It would take much more to allow him to sleep again. If she woke up again, he decided, he would still be sitting right there with her.


	3. Chapter Two: Man With A Plan

PAST

"Another med transport just rolled in," the Colonel said. "They could use your help, Sergeant."

"Yes sir," Sara nodded, though she exhaled rather heavily under her breath, tired of yet another of the Colonel's attempts at sidelining her. How many successful missions had she participated in? How many lives had she saved? Yet still, it was not enough for his small male brain. She did as told, and turned on her heel, but only to be met by the sight of Steve Rogers dashing in through the lightly covered work area with Carter right on his heels.

It caused her pause, seeing the urgency and the concern. It wasn't something she was used to seeing on the features of Captain America. "Colonel Phillips," he said, whizzing just past her to the Colonel's desk.

"Well, if it isn't the Star Spangled man with a plan. What is your plan today?" the Colonel replied, tiredly.

"I need the casualty list for Azzano," Rogers answered.

The Colonel shook his head. "You don't get to give me orders, son."

"I just need one name. Sergeant James Barnes from the one hundred and seventh," Rogers insisted.

"You and I are going to have a conversation later that you won't enjoy," the Colonel said, pointing his pen at Carter standing beside Rogers.

Rogers was growing impatient, desperate for an answer. "Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R-"

"I can spell." The Colonel was paused a moment, before standing, turning his back to them, which only intrigued Sara. She stepped up beside Rogers, more for support than anything else.

Colonel Phillips went one, "I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

Rogers almost visibly deflated. Sara's shoulders dropped but she placed a hand on Steve's jacket arm. He glanced at her a moment, sending a silent thanks before turning back to the Colonel. "What about the others?" he asked. "Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah, it's called winning the war," Phillips replied.

"But if you know where they are, why not at least-"

"They're thirty miles behind the lines, through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe," the Colonel tapped the map in front of him. "We'd lose more men than we'd save. But I don't expect you to understand, you're a chorus girl."

Sara's eyebrows knitted. "With all due respect, sir-"

"I don't want to hear it, Riley," Phillips sent a cold look in her direction, and she was silenced.

"I think I understand it just fine," Rogers mildly glared at the Colonel.

Colonel Phillips nodded. "Good. Then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you've got somewhere to be in thirty minutes." With that said, the Colonel stepped past the three and continued on his stride through the work area.

Sara looked to Rogers. Even in the dim lighting of the overcast skies pouring down on the canopy, she could see that he was determined. His eyes shifted to meet Sara's. "Yeah, we do," he said. He gave a nod, a tip of his head, then was marching out of the work area. She didn't need more than that to follow him. Once outside, out of earshot, she spoke up. "What are we going to do?" she questioned.

She followed him closely into dressing tent. He immediately began gathering his gear and clothing. "We're going to Austria," he answered.

"And how exactly are you two going to get there? Walk?" Carter asked, stepping through the door to the tent.

Rogers nodded in his hustle. "If that's what it takes."

"You heard the Colonel. Your friend is most likely dead," she responded.

"You don't know that," Rogers shook his head defiantly, too stubborn and hopeful to believe anything other than in the safe return of his best friend.

Sara slipped out of the tent. Back into the pouring rain. Then into a fast pace along the line of tents until she reached her own. Inside, she hurriedly changed out her sopped coat for her much lighter leather one, gathered her rifle case. She didn't know what exactly she would need. Much less if she would even be coming back. Being a super soldier didn't give you an excuse for going AWOL or going against a direct order. She was still bound by the same code of conduct as every other soldier. But she knew one thing. If Steve was going, so was she.

She swung her bow string onto her shoulder, holding her rifle case in the other hand, and hurried back outside. Rogers and Carter were heading for a jeep just as she did, so she made a straight line for the vehicle. Arriving just after them, tossing her weapons into the back along with Steve's bag and shield, she climbed onto the passenger seat.

"You said I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?" Rogers asked Carter.

"Every word," she answered.

"Then you've got to let us go," Rogers concluded. He climbed onto the driver's seat. Carter following along the side of the jeep. "I can do more than that," Carter said. Her eyes moved to Sara then. "We have a mutual friend I think would be willing to help us."

Sara sighed, slouching slightly in her seat upon realization. "Stark." She all but snorted the word.

Rogers was more than eager to go. He started the engine of the jeep. "Alright then, let's go," he urged.

Sara groaned, climbing into the cargo area of the jeep to make room for Peggy. They drove out of the base and to the nearest airfield.

With a simple call, Stark was already waiting with his passenger plane by the time the three had finally arrived. "What took you ladies so long?" Howard questioned, holding out his arms.

"Could ask you the same thing, ma'am," Sara replied, hopping from the back of the jeep before it had fully stopped moving. She grabbed her things and started for the plane. More specifically, the Stark standing in front of it. "Come on, bring it in," he smiled, gesturing for a hug.

Sara's nose wrinkled, dodging left, under his arm. "Howard! I told you I'm not touching you until you're married."

Stark only made a pfft, giving a toss of his eyes. Rogers gathered his things as well and followed Sara's suit, walking toward the plane with Carter out-striding him by a step. "Good to see you again, Captain," Stark nodded as Rogers approached.

"You know he's not actually a Captain, right?" Sara asked, rhetorically, leaning a hip into the doorway to the small plane.

Stark immediately turned and marched for the plane door. "When I find my tape, I swear I am gonna never hear your voice again," he said, sarcastically.

Sara quickly ducked inside the plane before he could reach her, and he disappeared inside after her. Rogers paused slightly. He'd never seen Sara like that, let alone with a man so close by. The only times he'd seen Sara smile were the brief moments they had time to talk. Other than that you'd only ever get maybe a forced frown. That was the closest to a smile she could manage, it seemed. Pulling himself from his thoughts he followed Peggy into the plane. He sat beside Sara near the door to the plane, Peggy across from them.

Howard was already getting the plane ready to fly. Not a moment passed after they were in the air before Sara looked to Steve. "So, this friend of yours," she started, her tone laced with curiosity. He eyed her suspiciously a moment, waiting for her to continue. "He must be awful important to risk so much to find his corpse."

His features changed to give her a look. "Gee, thanks, Em."

"Hey, I thought only I got to call you Em," Howard protested, stealing a glance back between the pilot seats. Sara rolled her eyes and continued to inspect her rifle.

Rogers waited a moment before saying anything else. "He's my best friend," he told her, causing her to look up. "Bucky and me...we've been through everything. He's family. I can't leave him behind."

Sara's eyebrow cocked. "I thought you said his name was James?"

"It is. But his middle name is Buchanan-"

"Oh, I see. Like how my middle name is Marie so you call me Em," she thought through it aloud, nodding.

Rogers smiled lightly. "Yeah, just like that."

Meanwhile, Agent Carter was the only one there tending to business. She unfolded a map of the area across her lap as they were fast approaching their target space in Austria. "The Hydra camp is in Krausberg," she explained, pointing to it. "Just between these two mountains."

Sara listened with one ear as she pulled on a parachute over her jacket. Readjusting her ponytail to pull it from the straps, out of the way. "We should be able to drop you right on the doorstep," Howard called.

"Just get us as close as you can," Steve replied. Then he looked to Carter as he clipped on his parachute. "You know, you two are gonna be in a lot of trouble when you land."

Carter's eyebrows rose. "And you two won't?"

"Where we're going, if anybody yells at me I can just shoot 'em," Rogers said.

"They will undoubtedly shoot back," Peggy nodded.

"Well," Rogers tapped his knuckles against his shield. "Let's hope it's good for something."

"Agent Carter? If we're not in too much of a hurry, I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late-night fondue," Howard called. Sara's eyebrows knitted as she looked at the pilot questioningly, finding the interruption odd and unnecessary.

Peggy ignored it. Though it did make the tension already in the plane a little higher, heightening the awkwardness of it all. But Sara's eyes flicked between Carter and Rogers, too interested in the prospective romance not to do so.

"Stark is the best civilian pilot I've ever seen," Peggy gracefully skirted around it. "He's mad enough to brave this airspace. We're lucky to have him."

Rogers nodded. "So you two...do you...fondue?"

His tone was awkward and insinuating. Telling of his lack of knowledge in how to hint at something personal. Sara snorted, pulling on her gloves. What a disaster. "This is your transponder," Peggy held up a rectangular device. "Activate it when you're ready and the signal will lead us right to you."

Roger took the gray box, eyeing it suspiciously. "You're sure this thing works?" he called to Stark.

"Are you kidding?" Sara chuckled, drawing Steve's attention. "That thing's been tested more than us, Rogers." Not a second passed and the entirety of the plane rocketed right at a loud boom. Sparks of gunfire appeared out the windows.

More shots rocked the plane left and right in a small lull. Steve stood, grabbing his shield, and made for the door. Seeing this as her cue, Sara slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder, grabbed her rifle, and followed him over.

Peggy shot up at this. "Get back here! We're dropping you all the way in!"

Rogers knelt in front of the now opened door. "As soon as we're clear, you turn this thing around and get out of here!"

"You can't give me orders!" Carter protested.

Rogers glanced at Sara, wearing a smirk. He adjusted his blue helmet as he looked back to Peggy. "The Hell I can't! I'm a Captain!" he reasoned, sarcastically. Then he dove from the aircraft. Sara stepped forward, crouching in.

But Peggy grabbed hold of the shoulder of Sara's jacket, stopping her. Sara's eyebrow arched, looking up at the woman. "Watch his back," Agent Carter instructed. Sara knew what it was: a silent 'I'm trusting you', trusting her to make sure he came home not in a wooden box.

Sara gave a firm nod, "With my life."

She dove from the plane, right through the upward spray of bullets, after Rogers, pulling her shute at the right distance from the ground. Steve only landed mere minutes before she did. She unclipped her harness the moment her feet touched the ground.

"This way," Rogers tipped his head.

Sara nodded, following him as he started into a jog through the trees, all the way until they could see the factory. They slowed to a stop not far from the front gates.

"There it is," Steve said, looking it over.

Sara's eyes remained firmly on the guards, the lights, the mechanics of the fence. More specifically, a way in. The hum of a vehicle caught their attention, and Sara pulled Rogers down to hunch behind the trees as it passed to the front gate. But it wasn't just a vehicle, it was motor bikes followed by large convoy trucks.

Sara looked to Steve, both having the same idea, and she darted out into the road behind the last of the trucks. She ran and leapt into the back beneath it's tarp covering, rolling in and ending on her back.

Rogers was only seconds behind, toppling right over her, causing her to groan in displeasure.

"Rogers!" she sighed, in a huff. But then she looked up. Two confused seeming Hydra agents sat with guns at the front of the cargo area. Steve sat up, seeing them, too.

He nodded once, "Fellas."

The two men stood, poised to attack. But it wasn't hard to disarm them. Sara took one and Steve took the other. Sara kicked the gun from her agent's hands, then sent the other heel into the side of his head, before grabbing his collar and slamming his front into her knee cap, using the extra strength from the serum to give it enough oomph. She then kept hold of the agent's jacket, using it as leverage to turn him and thrust him from the back of the truck. Steve did the same, sending the second agent tumbling out.

Sara dropped to a crouch at the door, listening. Steve mirrored her position, watching her closely. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"I'm thinking it's a lot of security for a regular old factory," she slowly shook her head. "There's got to be more to this place."

"I agree. But whatever the reason, we're here for hostages," he reminded.

She nodded, then gave a momentary smirk of an expression. "Show time." At that, the truck came to a halt, backing up for a moment before stopping again.

Steve held up his shield, facing the door, and Sara tucked herself in behind him. "On my go," he whispered.

"Ready when you are, Captain," she agreed, unsheathing the knife in her thigh holster.

A Hydra agent lifted up the tarp flap on the door, pausing upon seeing the shield, just in time for Steve to thrust the shield forward, slamming the agent back several feet.

"Go," Steve said. He crawled out, offered Sara a hand. She wrinkled up her nose but, taking pity on him, held his hand long enough to get out of the truck, quickly dropping it with both feet on the concrete. "This way," he pointed right, off the loading dock.

She nodded and he lead the way through a field of military vehicles, mostly tanks, painted with the Hydra insignia on the side. They ran through the field and across, leapt atop a tank and onto a rooftop, then came to a door higher up on the main structure.

Steve, approaching the door, smirked at Sara. "Watch this," he boasted, sidling up beside the door. Sara plastered her back to the opposite side, watching as he'd requested, waiting for it to epically fail. He tapped his knuckle against the door.

She gave him a questioning look. Her own unique version of 'are you serious?' made just for him. Sure enough, an agent stuck his head out the door. Then Steve pushed the door, slamming the agent's head in the door frame, then sent his fist into the agent's face. The agent dropped face first onto the concrete floor and Steve looked to Sara. She shrugged her approval and he started in.

Sara pulled the door closed behind them, then she followed Rogers across the hall. They used pillars and giant missile-like structures as hiding spots in sporadic places, like a game of leap frog, until they reached a glowing blue, circular something. Sara couldn't quite tell what it was, but Steve took a small fractal of it and slid it in his pocket for later observation.

They made it to the prisoner floor. Steve was about to assault the unsuspecting guard ahead, keeping watch on the prisoner cages below him. But Sara stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I got this," she whispered, sliding her bow from her shoulder.

She loaded in an arrow and drew it back, taking her aim. It only took her a second to lock in on him, then her fingers released it, and it soared right to him, the electrically charged arrowhead gripping the agent's thick vest.

It sent a pulse through him strong enough to drop an elephant. At least, that's what Howard had told her when he'd given them to her. He assured her they worked. But this was the first time she'd used one. It seemed like a success, considering the agent dropped onto the grate, unconscious.

Steve smiled, nodding his approval before starting forward. Sara rushed forward beside him. He pick-pocketed the guard and took his keys. "Who are you supposed to be?" a prisoner asked, squinting up at Steve.

"I'm..." Rogers was at a loss for words.

Sara sighed. "He's Captain America," she answered for him, stepping forward to be seen. "You're welcome." She snatched the keys from Steve's hands and moved to the edge of the level, dropped to her knees, gripped the edge of the concrete, then swung herself down to hit the floor feet first.

Steve followed suit while she began unlocking cages. There were murmurs. She knew it was going to happen. A woman coming to their aid? How could it be so? She tuned it out, not listening as she continued to save their lives.

Finally they'd unlocked the last cage, and Rogers had yet to find his friend, Sara knew, which was disheartening for them both. "Is there anybody else? I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes," Steve said, passing through the prisoners.

"There's an isolation ward in the factory. But no one's ever come back from it," a prisoner answered.

"Alright...the tree line is northwest, thirty yards outside the gate," Rogers said, as Sara moved to walk beside him, elbowing past the prisoners giving her glares. "Get out fast and give 'em Hell. We'll meet you guys in the clearing with anyone else we find."

"Wait. You know what you're doing?" a dark skinned prisoner stepped forward.

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I've knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times. Em, with me."

"Yes, sir," Sara nodded once with a light smile, jogging to catch up with him as he took off down the aisle of empty cages. Suddenly an alarm began to blare. It was overly annoying and grated on Sara's nerves almost instantly. Then they hit a wave of incoming agents, as they rounded a corner, into another large open room. Steve slammed two with his shield, and Sara sliced with her knife, clearing a path to keep going.

Sara groaned. "We need to split up! We can cover more ground and find...uh...what's his name?" she asked, unable to think with the loud alarm. "Uh- bu- Bucky! Bucky, right?"

Rogers finished slamming through the second group of agents and turned to face her. "Good idea. You take right, I'll go left. We meet back here," he agreed.

An incoming agent appeared. In a second Sara had shot an arrow into his thigh. Steve finished him off with a kick to the gut, sending the agent over the edge of the balcony-like area they stood on. Sara nodded quickly, "Good, go!" She broke into a jog down the right side of the balcony.

"Hey!" Rogers called after her. She stopped, barely, and turned to see him. "Watch your back!" She gave a small, two fingered salute-like gesture as she continued backing away. "Will do," she agreed. Then she turned on her heel and sprinted.


	4. Chapter Three: Not In The 40s

PRESENT

Her fingers worked over the page in her lap with gentle, easy strokes, smoothing out a fine line between blank page and shaded shape. A familiar sketch. Something she'd drawn since nineteen forty-four. It was just after the sun was fully out. She was sitting on a park bench adjacent to the large pool in front of the Washington Monument.

A hollow thud and a gasp for air startled her, pulling her eyes from the page and straight to a dark skinned man sitting against the trunk of a thick tree just feet from her bench.

She couldn't help smirking, assuming what must have happened. "Need a medic?" she asked.

The man looked up, chest heaving in oxygen. He huffed a chuckle at her comment. "Nah, just need to catch my breath," he assured.

"How many times did he pass you?" Sara asked. Her eyes moved back to her paper, her sketch resuming as she finished her sentence, "Be honest now."

"I lost count," the man admitted.

She nodded. "That's understandable."

"Are you his girlfriend?" he inquired, mostly rhetoric in tone.

Her eyebrow instinctively rose on her forehead and she turned her head to see him, giving a shake of it, "Lord no," she wrinkled her nose. "He's like my brother."

He nodded, looking away from her. Just then Steve arrived at the bench, putting his hands on his hips and giving Sara a questioning stare. "Are you just gonna sit there all day?" he asked her. She chuckled lightly as she folded over the cover of her sketch book.

"This was your idea," she pointed out. "I'm perfectly comfortable just watching."

He smiled at her comment. Then looked to the heaving man on the ground. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," the man nodded. "Just coughing up a lung."

"Steve, what did I tell you about breaking the mortals?" Sara quipped, standing up from the bench. She wore a sweater over her blouse, but the morning had grown increasingly warm over the hours they'd been here, so she pulled her arms out from the sleeves and draped it over her arm, folding her arm against her middle to hold it.

Steve nearly rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. She gave a small smile as she stepped over to the man on the ground. She held out a hand. "Sara Riley," she introduced herself. "And you are?"

"Sam Wilson," he replied. He took her outstretched hand, and she helped him to his feet easily.

Steve held out a hand next, following his friend's lead. "Steve Rogers," he smiled.

"I kind of figured that out," Sam smiled back, shaking his hand. He jutted his chin toward Sara. "Is she your sidekick?"

Sara shook her head, squinting against the sun. "You got that backward. He's mine."

Sam barked a laugh, and Steve only shook his head with a lofty sigh. Typical Sara, he thought. Sara held up her wrist to view her watch, an antique style gold one Steve had found in a small shop last week. He'd insisted she needed it. She was certain he just wanted to give her a gift to cheer her up, though nothing could actually fix her emotions of late. He received extra points in her mind for trying, though. She sighed, moving her eyes back up to the men. "Sorry boys. I have to be somewhere," she apologized, lightly.

Steve looked to her, confused. "Where are you going?"

"Museum opened an hour ago," she answered him. "I'll see you back at the apartment?"

"Yeah, okay." He gave a singular nod, though he wished she'd stay, wished she'd stop going to that wretched exhibit.

She rose on her toes and left a quick peck on his cheek, then she smiled at Sam. "It was nice meeting you, Sam," she said, before skirting around him.

"Yeah, you, too," he called after her.

She waved a hand over her shoulder, then shoved her sketch book into her satchel as she began her trek to the Smithsonian. It wasn't a difficult feat. Not for her. No, she enjoyed walking most places. It was an activity that gave her mind time to work, time to go over recent events.

The Museum exhibit was nice and empty when she arrived. The speaker played a narrator's voice, telling the story of Captain America for the incoming public, but she tuned it out.

Taking moderately quick steps along the hall, her mind was set on one portion, and one portion only. She slowed as she arrived at the costumed mannequins, meant to portray the Howling Commandos as the portraits painted on the backdrop behind them. Of course, Sara wasn't included, she wasn't in any of it. Because to the world she didn't exist, but that was okay. She did what she joined to do, save lives. It was nice not to be as recognized and famous as Steve. That way she could walk the streets and not feel eyes upon her every step.

Reluctantly, she moved herself along, on to the glass display a few feet behind her. There he was, just like he always was, every day. Bucky. A dramatic looking shot slightly pixelated on the glass with a biography written on either side. His name, year of birth, and year of death were in bigger letters near the bottom.

Sara pulled her sketch book free from her bag and opened it to the middle pages, flipping through until she found her work from this morning's outing. The fingers holding it trembled lightly at the sight of it. It was almost a perfect likeness. She'd been trying to draw him for over two weeks, at least, two weeks in the twenty-first century. She hadn't been able to get his face quite right, but now she'd done it.

Her lungs pressed against her rib cage as she took in a deep breath, eyes shifting cautiously up to the glass. Below the display played looped footage, various clippings of films with Bucky in it. Mostly he was with Steve, though there was one discrepancy, something that had been overlooked since the exhibit's opening, a short scene, only lasting a few seconds, showing the side of Sergeant Sara Riley. She remained unnamed by the museum. Her face was never seen, but there she was, standing with most of her back toward the camera that was filming them over Steve's shoulder.

She was wearing her black outfit designed by Howard. It wasn't as flattering as some current S.H.I.E.L.D. designed outfits Fury had shown her less than a week ago, but it did its job back then. It deadened a part of her inside, to be able to remember exactly what was happening in that short few seconds, to know what was going to happen before she saw it and how it felt when it happened. She hadn't realized she'd teared up, not until the screen became so blurry she couldn't see it anymore.

Chatter and shoe scuffling squared her shoulders. She moved quickly to stash her book back into her bag and dry her under eyes with her sweater sleeve, then turn on her heels and head to the nearest exit. A wave of incoming visitors nearly crushed her, but she wriggled her way through to the outside.

When she arrived back at the apartment, pushed through the door and dropped her bag on the couch, Steve was no where to be found. Then she spotted the note on the kitchen counter. The apology and notice of his leave for a mission. Alongside it was a business card style advertisement. It was for a Veteran's Affairs center. More specifically, the support group lead by Sam Wilson, the other runner from this morning. Sara flipped it over, finding another set of words in Steve's hand writing.

'Think about it.'

For a moment she almost scoffed, but it caused her to pause. What would going to a support group prove? That she was suffering from PTSD? From depression and anxiety? Or that she was mourning the loss of her best friend? It would only say what she already knew, so she flicked the card back onto the counter and went to the bathroom.

The first step was to run the water in the bath. Soaking in it for a while would usually help her nerves. Not having Steve around was hard for her. More specifically, not having someone she knew and trusted around, was extremely difficult. But she understood that he had orders when working for Fury.

She didn't know why she wasn't pulled along on this one. She assumed he wouldn't need her for whatever mess Fury was having him clean up this time, and began the process of stripping away her clothes, leaving them in a messy pile atop the closed toilet lid.

Once the tub was filled to her liking, she turned off the stream. Slipping a foot in first, testing the waters, she eased herself into the tub, lowering herself down to sit, leaning her back into the porcelain and letting her shoulders relax. The water felt smooth against her skin, soft to the touch, but it was blistering hot.

After being frozen for almost seventy years, she couldn't seem to get warm, nothing she wore was warm enough. So the heat in the water truly felt room temperature even though her skin was a bright pink.

So much was different in the world. Too much to truly feel like this was home, and maybe it never would be. Staying with Steve helped, though it was not a cure all. His presence was safety, but it was also familiarity.

She knew him from a time when it was home. The time where she belonged. Not in this modern age of technology and effortlessness, but back when you had to work for what you wanted and it was widely accepted as normal to break a sweat.

Sara's hands gripped the sides of the tub and she gave a push, sliding down the porcelain and under the surface of the water, soaking her from head to toe in the almost boiling heat. She felt cold, a wave of ice prickling her skin, that dull and familiar, emotionless void. With her eyes closed she could see it: crystal blue eyes that set upon her with sincerity while all others only held contempt. Calm washed over her in an almost nauseating wave, filling her veins with tranquility.

It didn't last long. No, her lungs could only hold back their need for air for a few more moments of bliss, and then she shot up at the burning in her chest, sucking in a deep breath.

That night it was difficult to sleep. She tossed and she turned, varied her sleeping position to try and find a more suitable one, but nothing helped. Eventually she became so awake there was no way she could possibly keep her eyes closed, so she pushed off the bed, pattering across the wood flooring on her bare feet, to the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator door, washing her frame with a wave of bright light from the bulb within.

Though she squinted against the light, her eyes scanned the top shelf. A soft clatter tickled her ears then, causing her to stand upright, quickly turning her head to scan the room. Then she heard the front door opening and she looked to the clock above the stove.

Three AM. She closed the door and shuffled into the living room. Steve was just closing up the front door, as she did. "What was it this time?" she asked, her tired voice a soft rasp.

Steve immediately turned around, caught in surprise by her voice. "Sara? Why aren't you asleep? Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't tired," she shook her head, folding her arms over her chest.

Steve exhaled. He could see right through the excuse, but he didn't question it. He simply nodded and walked further into the apartment. "You need to sleep," he said, passing her. "I'll be in there in a minute?"

She sighed, "Yeah, fine." Irritated in her lack of sleep, she sauntered off into the bedroom.

Steve dropped his keys on the island, once again exhaling deeply as he leaned into his palms on the counter top. He was tired. He was always tired. His time in the ice didn't cure his need for sleep. It stole Sara's away completely. Her body had no desire to rest, it seemed, at least not while it wasn't accompanied by another.

Steve pushed off the island and took soft steps to the bedroom in the hope she'd be asleep, though he couldn't tell either way as he entered, closing the door behind him. Slipping out of his shoes and shrugging off his jacket, he pulled on his pajama pants and a more comfortable t-shirt, then he pulled back the ruffled comforter and slid in.

She had been turned with her back to him on her side, her arms folded beneath her head instead of using a pillow. Steve sighed softly as he settled into the sheets on his left side.

Sara felt the dip in the mattress, the change in position. She perked up a bit, twisting to see over her shoulder, and in fact he was there, as though he'd never left. So she turned over on her right side, adjusting her position to face him, letting her eyes close.

Steve cracked an eyelid at the movement. He exhaled through his nose and slid a hand across the sheet, placing it gently atop hers, a few inches from her face, and his eyes fell closed again.

In the morning Sara was the first awake. She always was. She was up and in the kitchen at sunrise. The military schedule was too ingrained in her brain to sleep in any longer. She sat atop the counter by the fridge, a steaming mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other. She'd been fully dressed and showered before Steve sauntered out of the bedroom at nine.

He entered the kitchen, causing Sara's gaze to slide up above the edge of the paper in her hand. "Morning," he said, yawning as he pulled open the refrigerator door. "Anything exciting in there?" He tipped his head toward the newspaper, in a gesture.

Sara shook her head, "It's the same every day."

Steve nodded his head in agreement, as he poured himself a glass of orange juice, taking note of her unimpressed expression toward whatever she was reading. He replaced the pitcher of juice and closed the fridge door. He took a seat at the table.

"So what were you up to last night?" Sara asked, dropping the paper beside her before sliding off the counter. "Anything important?"

"Just another one of Fury's mistakes," Steve shook his head.

Sara came to take the seat across from him at the table. "Was Romanoff with you?"

"Yeah. Why?" he asked, curiously. She shook her head and sipped her coffee, eyes averted. But Steve smiled a little. "Okay, what is it? Come on. Say it."

"You like her."

"What? You think I like Nat?"

Sara gave him a look, "You even have a nickname for her."

"I have one for you, too!" he pointed out, in his defense. "I have nicknames for a lot of people."

She sat back in her chair, placing her mug on the table top. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Rogers," she said. "And what about that blonde woman you keep flirting with in the hallway? Don't lie, I've seen you do it."

He scoffed. "That was one time."

"Seven," she corrected. He gave her a bewildered pause and she smirked. "I counted."

"It was a spur of the moment thing. Besides, they're not really my type."

Sara's eyebrow arched on her forehead. "You have a type?"

Steve became rigid in his seat. He hadn't realized what he said when he'd said it. Now, he realized, she would never let him live this down. He sighed heavily, "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, this should be good," Sara smiled, leaning back in her chair. "Go on, spill."

He shook his head, eyes downcast. "I don't know...independent, strong- but not overbearing. She's got to be able to be soft, too. Someone that I can relate to, on some level."

She gave him a look. "You just described Agent Carter, didn't you?"

He shook his head, huffing a sigh as he pushed himself up from the table, keeping his thoughts to himself. If he said what he was really thinking he truly would never hear the end of it. He ambled toward the fridge. "Got any plans for today?" he asked, busying himself with making breakfast.

"Not really. The museum opens in a couple hours, so I might-"

She was interrupted by a sound from Steve. It was indescribable, a mixture of a sound somewhere between a scoff and a pfft. Her eyes boring into the back of his head, "What's your problem?" she questioned, venomously.

He turned to face her, leaning into the island in front of him, taking in a deep breath. "This has to stop, Em," he said, tiredly. "You've been doing this for weeks. Everyday, going to that stupid exhibit. Haven't you been hurt enough?"

She immediately stood and marched forward to the island. "That 'stupid exhibit' is all I have left of him, Steven! That's it. I don't have a sweet little photo in my pocket watch in my nightstand drawer," she responded, angered.

"We're not in the forties anymore! You have to understand that and you gotta let it go. The museum trips, the navy blue nail polish, the sleepless nights, the sketchbook- all of it."

Sara was taken aback a moment but she wasn't angry. She was disappointed, saddened. "You...you know about my sketches?" she asked, bewildered. "That book is private, Steve."

Steve exhaled. "You left it on the couch the other night," he admitted, his shoulders drooping in his guilt. "It was wide open...I don't know, Em. I'm worried about you. Really worried."

She didn't say anything, just left the room, going to the bedroom. She pulled on a light jacket and her satchel, grabbed her keys, and started back for the front door.

"Sara," Steve called, as she marched past the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"I just need to be alone, Rogers." She pushed through the front door, giving it a good hard slam as she closed it behind her, leaving an echo of it in the air in her wake. It sank into Steve's bones in the silence that followed her exit, bringing in a dull ache to his chest. He knew then he'd royally blown his chance to help her. He'd handled it all wrong. But he honestly hadn't expected her to react so harshly.

She was never an unreasonable person. Though maybe that was the problem. He was telling her to move on, while trying to project her past self onto her every second of the day. His mental image of her was always in the past. He hadn't taken the time to get to know her in the present.

Sara crossed the threshold of the Veteran's Affairs center, and stepped into the large and open room she was directed to. Sam Wilson was folding up chairs and stacking them by the back wall, unaware of her arrival.

She stood by the door a quiet moment, hesitant to speak, debating on just turning around and going somewhere else, trying to reason with it in her mind.

Something caught Sam's eye, drawing his attention to her. He smiled, straightening his stance. "If you're here for group, you just missed it."

"Actually, I was hoping I could just talk to you," Sara replied. She took slow, hesitant steps inside the room. "If you have a minute and you don't mind, of course."

"I don't mind at all. Have a seat." He gestured to the metal chairs still left standing and lowered himself into one. Though still reluctant, she didn't waste time, sitting in a chair a space from him. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

Sara inhaled. "I've been having trouble sleeping. It was night terrors, but those aren't very frequent now. I just...I remember too much, you know? I can't get it out of my head."

"Steve mentioned you were in the military but he didn't elaborate on much," Sam said, remembering their prior conversation. "What was the nature of your service?"

"I was a Sergeant, in the Army. It was pretty basic field stuff."

He nodded as he took in the information, choosing to ignore the odd wording. "What are you unable to forget? Did you see something? Did you do something? What is your body reacting to so much?"

Sara looked down at that. Yes, she saw much violence. Even contributed to it. But none of it could ever keep her awake. She took in another shaky breath, exhaling it before speaking.

"I fell in love with another soldier," she answered, looking to Sam. "And he died. Right in front of me."


	5. Chapter Four: The Rescue

PAST

Sara sprinted, running down the brick paved hallway, poking her head in every room, but never finding what she was looking for.

Finally, in the fourth room she checked, she heard a sound, an unidentifiable one at first. But as she took quick steps into the room, she knew what It was: a groan. And then mumbled words she couldn't comprehend. Finally she saw him, a man laying strapped to a table near the back of the darkened room.

She was at his side in an instant, unbinding the belts, speaking as she went. "Hey, wake up, soldier," she said, unclipping the first restraint. "Are you Bucky?"

His eyes broke open at that, in surprise. They fixed on her with a bewildered curiosity. It was as though he was looking into the eyes of an angel. He was sure he'd died then, died and gone to whatever heaven was. "Wha...I don't...uh..." It was more incoherent mumbles, for a reply.

"I'll take that as a yes," she sighed. Her fingers gripped the buckle and she gave it a hard yank, ripping it clean off. She did that with the subsequent ones until there were no more, talking as she went. "Your friend's looking for you. You know a Steve Rogers?"

"Steve?" he perked up at the name, eyes following her.

"Yeah, he's waiting for us. Come on. Up you go." She gripped his arm and pulled. He didn't fight her. Just drooped off the side of the table to his feet, still with wide, slightly bewildered eyes. She realized she wouldn't get anywhere like this, not without explaining herself. Until she did, he might as well be a stack of bricks. "My name is Sergeant Sara Riley, one-one-seven-zero-six-three-zero-one. I am a member of the US Army and I'm trying to save your life," she quickly explained. "I know this is weird, but I need you to come with me. Can you move?"

He slowly nodded, standing up a bit more on his own. "Yeah, yeah."

"Good. Let's go." She nodded once, draping his arm around her shoulders and carrying him along with her to the exit, his feet almost dragging behind from his half-lucid state.

"You're really pretty," he mumbled, obviously not in his right mind. It sounded like it was a bewildering revelation. His eyes were scrutinizing her face.

With the close proximity, Sara leaned to the right to maintain the proper amount of space between their faces. "Just shut up and let me save your life," she replied, tiredly.

"I could kiss you right now."

"Please don't."

It took him a moment, but he regained his motor function enough to stand on his own, pulling away from her in their stride. She kept an eye on him to make sure he didn't just fall right over. He was staggering a bit but, so far, he managed. So she trained her eyes on the hallway ahead.

"You said Steve was here?" he asked, trying to recall what exactly she'd said. His mind was one big jar of jelly at that moment.

"Yeah, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't be," Sara tossed the words over her shoulder.

Bucky pushed up his sleeves, taking a deep breath. "So, I'm curious about something," he said, struggling to keep up with her fast pace, and in doing so had to talk over her shoulder. "How exactly does a woman join the Army?"

Just then, a small group of Hydra agents rounded the corner, headed straight for them. Sara sighed and pulled the rifle off her back. "Just couldn't wait, could you?" she tossed the rifle in Bucky's general direction, "Use that." Then she drew her bow back with an arrow.

She shot two arrows, dropping two agents. But there were still three more, so she ran along the wall, leaping into the air, pushing off the brick wall to her right, and coming down hard atop an agent with her bow, dropping him.

The other agent beside him turned just in time to get slammed in the face with her bow handle. A few more agents poured around the corner. Sudden gun shots echoed loudly in the small hall, piercing Sara's ears sharply.

Her only outward reaction was a cringe. The rest of her body was too busy firing arrows to react in any other way. Agents were dropping like flies from the barrage of bullets from Bucky a few yards behind her. She ducked the fist of an agent, righting herself only to pull an arrow from her quiver, forcing it into the agent's abdomen like a knife. She gave the arrow a yank, then placed it back in her quiver. A quick sweep of her eyes revealed a lack of more agents to fight.

She twisted to see Bucky. He was walking toward her, racking a bullet into the chamber of the rifle. "The Army sent a female soldier armed with arrows to rescue us?" he questioned, rhetorically. But it wasn't the demeaning tone Sara was used to. It was playful, sarcastic.

She tilted her head in an expression. "You want rescued or not?" she asked, matching his rhetorical tone. "Let's go, soldier."

In no time she was striding down the hall, continuing on with her pace. It baffled him how she could do what she does, and act like she doesn't feel a thing. She wasn't winded, wasn't injured. He couldn't figure it out as he mulled it over, walking fast to keep pace, right on her tail, through the hallways.

As they reached the balcony area, there was a familiar shout, causing Sara to turn left. "Em!" It was Steve. He jogged to reach them. Immediately flooded with relief upon seeing his friend alive and well. "Bucky," he exhaled, pulling him into his arms. "You're alive."

"Yeah, I'm a bit surprised myself," Bucky replied, as he stepped back. The Sergeant's eyes found themselves frozen on Steve's frame. Bewildered, he asked, "What happened to you?"

"There was a scientific experiment the Army was conducting to make super soldiers. Dr. Erskine, the scientist who created the serum, thought I was the perfect candidate," Rogers explained, speaking as quickly as he could. He gestured toward Sara, "So was she."

Just then, a large explosion from the work area below, across the level, rocked the whole building. It was followed by a series of similar explosions. Each one jarring them to their bones. "Well, that's not good," Bucky said, grimly.

Sara looked to Steve, mumbling, irritated, "I'm putting him back."

An explosion right below them sent fire and smoke at their faces. Steve shielded himself as he jolted backward. Instinctively Bucky wrapped his arms around Sara's middle and pulled her back with him, twisting himself in front of her to cover her from the heat. She allowed it long enough for the fire to somewhat dissipate, but then she gave a hard nudge, yanking herself free, and moving aside in one swift motion. "Don't touch me unless I tell you to, got it, soldier?" she all but hissed, causing Bucky to recoil.

He scoffed, "A 'thank you' would do just fine, sweetheart."

Sara's mouth dropped open as her eyes narrowed drastically, "Sweetheart-?"

"We don't have time for this," Steve interjected. He grabbed Sara's wrist and yanked, tugging her behind him up a stairwell to a higher level.

Bucky begrudgingly followed quickly behind. He couldn't help but notice the situation. Bucky had touched Sara and she'd nearly killed him on the spot. Steve touched Sara and she willingly followed right along with him. It was slightly irksome.

They made it to the top and ran to a bridge, sliding to a stop at a voice from the other side, "Captain America! How exciting." It was patronizing, male, belonging to one Johann Schmidt, Sara recognized, who was standing with Dr. Zola near the elevator, by the bridge.

Schmidt continued, "I am a great fan of your films! So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive."

Rogers dropped Sara's appendage and made slow steps onto the bridge, and Schmidt did the same. Within striking distance, Steve lunged at him, sending a fist right into the center of Schmidt's face. It knocked him back a step with a groan. He felt the side of his face, adjusting his jaw.

"You've got no idea," Rogers replied, chest heaving with rage. Schmidt righted himself with a devilish curve of his lips. Red streaked under his right eye. Sara loaded and drew her bow. Her arrow was aimed right for Schmidt's chest, but she didn't fire. Sara knew better than anyone to wait. Wait for orders. Rogers was the only man she would ever gladly take orders from, and he hadn't given her the go-ahead.

"Haven't I?" Schmidt said. He sent a fist at Steve. Steve hiked up his shield, but Schmidt's fist dented right into it. It was shocking, but Steve quickly reached for his gun. Schmidt knocked it away easily, causing Rogers to fall backward. He kicked up, sending Schmidt back several feet.

Dr. Zola quickly scrambled to pull the lever beside the bridge, causing it to retract both sides, separating it. Steve stood as it backed all the way to Sara and Bucky.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see, I was his greatest success!" Schmidt shouted. He gripped at the skin of his neck, tugging, pulling, peeling the flesh right off his entire head.

Sara nearly gagged. "I think I'm gonna throw up," she breathed. Schmidt's head was a dastardly crimson, devilish in appearance.

"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky asked, equally disgusted. Sara side glanced at Bucky with yet another 'are you serious?' expression.

"You are deluded, Captain," Schmidt said. "You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind! Unlike you, I embrace it proudly! Without fear!"

"Then how come you're running?" Rogers countered, as he watched Schmidt and Dr. Zola slipping into the elevator. Schmidt turned to face Rogers inside the small elevator, smiling as he pressed the button, causing the doors to close.

Another explosion rocked the building. Sara slid the arrow back into her quiver and pulled the bow string over her head to rest against her chest. "Now what, Captain?" she asked, looking to Steve.

"Come on, let's go. Up," he pointed upward, toward a set of stairs.

Sara dove for the stairs, the men quick on her heels. The three took the steps two at a time until they'd reached the top, sprinting across the metallic hall to a beam that stretched across the building to the other side. The beam shook and trembled with the shockwaves of the blasts. "Let's go, one at a time," Steve urged. "We need to get out of here."

Bucky stepped back. "Ladies first."

"Well, I guess chivalry isn't dead," Sara commented, hoisting herself over the railing to reach the beam. "You're coming right after me, so pull on your big boy trousers."

"Just worry about not dying," Bucky quipped, though the anxiety was rising quickly in his chest, threatening to swallow him.

Sara took steady, somewhat slow steps across the beam, moving with it as it shook, staying low to keep her balance. Then Bucky hurtled himself over the railing. He started across the beam as she arrived just past the middle point. "Just don't look down!" she called, over her shoulder.

"Thank you, now I want to look down," Bucky sighed heavily, forcing his eyes up.

A hint of a curve came to her lips. But it was quickly dashed by a sharp shriek of the metal beneath their feet, shaking the beam in a violent jolt. Then she saw it. The joint at the other end was breaking. "Walk faster, soldier!" she urged, halting her pace.

She knew what was coming, but she waited for him to catch up to her before moving forward, anticipating the next move. Sure enough, not another step and the beam collapsed from under them. Sara had just enough time to grab the railing on the other side, to comprehend that her comrade was falling, and catch his wrist. Stopping his falling weight tugged at her body hard, pulling on the railing, but it held. Sara grimaced as she tried pulling herself up. "You okay down there?" she hollered, glancing down.

"Oh, yeah! Just...hanging out," Bucky nervously replied. "Quick question, though. How are we going to get back up?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I just met you!"

She exhaled in a huff against the strain on her arm. "Can you trust me, soldier?" she reiterated, more forcefully.

He was unsure, unsure of it all, but he saw no other way. Death was imminent both directions. "Yes!" he replied.

"Then hold onto me. Don't let go." He gripped her arm tighter, getting a firm hold on her hand and wrist with both of his, forcing himself to trust that she wouldn't let them fall to their deaths, though a good majority of him expected it.

Sara pulled hard, gritting her teeth. With a light bob and a hard tug, she swung up, letting go of the bar long enough to grab the one just above it. "Em! You okay?" Rogers called, growing increasingly worried, watching both his friends dangling by one arm.

"I'm good!" she replied. She repeated her previous process until she'd reached the top bar. She twisted her arm and shoulder, using her lower body muscles to hike up her legs to the level, sliding her thin frame beneath the railing's lowest bar, pulling Bucky up higher as she went.

"You okay?" she asked, as he reached her shoulder level. He nodded, mumbling an anxiety ridden response, climbing onto the railing, clinging to it for dear life. He climbed over the side of it and sighed in relief as his feet touched solid ground.

Sara backed out from under the railing and stood, exhaling after her feat, but it didn't last long. She was immediately at the railing, looking to Steve, looking for a way across. A way for him to come with them. "There has to be a rope or something!" Bucky shouted, coming to the railing beside her.

"Just go! Get out of here!" Steve hollered.

"No!" Bucky shouted, defiantly. "Not without you!

"Rogers, jump!" Sara exclaimed, as yet another blast shook the level. Steve immediately bent the broken railing out of the way and backed himself up as far as he could. Sara's arm wrapped around Bucky's front, pulling him back several steps with her.

And Steve jumped. He leapt across the wide divide through a burst of flame and smoke. There was a moment of blurred vision, a moment of panic in both soldiers waiting for him on the other side. And then he landed in a topple in front of them.

Sara flooded with relief as he stood. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around his neck. He was too stunned to do anything in the split second it lasted. But then she stepped back, slapping a hand across his cheek. "What were you thinking? Stop following my advice!" she lightly shouted, worriedly.

Steve smiled, chuckling lightly under his breath. "Let's get out of here and we'll talk about it."

"Deal," she exhaled.

The three made it out of the factory, coming to find nothing but carnage of the battle that had raged outside. Dead Hydra agents lay strewn about left and right. Sara couldn't help but smile a closed-mouth smile walking beside Bucky, just a stride behind Steve.

The escaped prisoners of war all filed in to meet the three as they made it a ways out of the building, seeking orders. "Everyone follow us!" Rogers shouted to be heard by all. "We should make it to the base by morning!"

They'd walked all night. Though Sara didn't mind the hike, she did mind being in the company of Sergeant Barnes the whole trip. Of course he asked the typical question she'd gotten from everyone, just phrased a little differently.

He sidled up to her, walking in step with her stride to keep conversation, leaning over an inch as he spoke. "So, what's your story?" he asked, curiously. "How'd you get out here with Steve?"

Sara inhaled a breath of cold night air. "Luck, I guess? Being friends with Howard Stark gets you places. But I was actually an Army nurse before all this," she answered, glancing up through the four inches of height difference. "I got the serum just after Rogers did."

He raised an eyebrow in a skeptical expression. "You can do everything he can?"

"Yeah," she nodded once. Her eyes refocused on the path ahead of her. More specifically, the back of Steve's jacket. Something to keep her moving forward.

"You two seem close. Are you...together?" Bucky asked, eyes darting between Sara and Rogers pointedly.

"We're partners, if that's what you're asking."

His lips curved lightly. "No, I meant-"

"I know what you meant," she smirked. "No, we're not together."

Bucky nodded, more to himself, straightening his position as he filed that bit of information away for later. With a small sigh, Sara jogged a couple strides to fall into step beside Steve, eager to get away from the large crowd of men following them.

Though she was truly happy they'd been able to rescue their soldiers, she didn't intend to spend any more time with them than she had to. "How does it feel to be a hero, Captain America?" she inquired, smiling up at him as she nudged his side with her elbow.

He smiled back, chuckling. "Like everything I'd hoped it'd be. And you? You're just as much of a hero in this as I am."

"Um..." she shrugged up one shoulder in an expression. "I'm not a bask in the glory type of person. I came to do a job, and I did."

"Sounds like a boring life," he noted.

"Well, let's face the music, Rogers. If I got up and started boasting about how I saved hundreds of soldiers' lives, what would happen?"

He thought a moment, seeing her point. "I see what you mean."

The soldiers only stopped to rest a short handful of times, one being just near dawn, almost home. While most gathered in groups with small fires to keep warm, Sara found herself a spot yards outside of any circle. Playing her own version of darts with her knives and a tree. She lined it up, hauled it back, and swung forward. Her new strength wasn't necessary for this, so she was just Sara Riley.

She was only the Super Soldier, she decided, when she had to be to save lives. Because, after all, that is why she became a nurse to begin with, much less became enhanced. "I didn't get a chance to say this before," a familiar masculine voice from not too far behind her didn't inhibit her ability to keep aiming knives. "But...thank you. For rescuing us."

Without looking or giving so much as a glance, she knew exactly who it was, though his voice caused her pause. He was genuine, she realized. Sliding her last knife away she turned to face him. In the odd blue-ish color of the dawn everything looked different. The mess that was his hair, smooth lines of his face, blue in his eyes. Everything was blue.

She looked at him seriously. "You're welcome," she nodded once, slowly, almost unsure of it. He noticed this. And it made him sad. Sad to think that 'thank you' wasn't a regular occurrence for her. She was in fact helping out, fighting the good fight, saving lives just like the rest of the men, doing so much more than them, even.

He gave a closed-mouthed smile, "You don't get that a lot, do you?"

She shook her head. "No. But it doesn't matter to me."

"Why not?" he raised an eyebrow. "Without you, I wouldn't be here. None of us would. You deserve more than some crummy little words."

"Because it's not about the reward you get. It's about what you do. I was born in Israel. My parents and I immigrated to Germany when I was five months old," she said, lowering her voice an octave at the memory. "They sent me to America to do good. That's what I'm going to do."

"By becoming a super soldier?" he asked, yet another rhetorical question. But it was that playful, light hearted tone he'd used earlier. It was only then she'd realized he'd moved, now standing aligned with her position but still feet away.

She exhaled, turning back around to face the tree, giving a small shrug. "What's a girl to do when the boys won't let her play with their toys?" she responded, unsheathing her knife again.

Sara wound back her arm and gave the knife a good hard thrust. The knife flew like an airborne razor blade, moving faster than it should've. She'd put more strength on it than she should have. The steel blade carved right through the tree trunk, through it and out the other side, stabbing blade down into the cold dirt yards away, leaving nothing but the echo of a hollow thunk and a hole torn in the bark beside the other knives she'd stabbed into it.


	6. Chapter Five: At High Speed

PRESENT

Sara sighed against the low hum of the phone in her pocket. But as she reached in and pulled it out, slowing to a stop on the sidewalk, she realized it was her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued phone. She assumed it was another mission, another thing Fury needed cleaned up.

Her finger pressed the answer button, and she held the phone to her ear. "Riley," she answered. Gunfire filtered in through the speaker before any voice did. And it shot her nerves into alert. "What's going on?"

Then Fury spoke, "I'm sending you coordinates to my location. I need you here yesterday." And then the line went silent. Though it didn't take anything more than that to get her moving, breaking into a sprint across the street and up the block after receiving the coordinates.

The echoing sounds of flying bullets tickled her ears long before she got close, close enough to see what was happening. She skidded to a screeching halt across the intersection from a horrific scene. A battered and smashed black SUV was crammed in by smashed Police cruisers on all sides, being flooded with a barrage of bullets from AKs held by Police officers.

Sara back pedaled, diving into the apartment complex at her back, taking to the stairs, two at a time all the way to the roof. She could still hear the guns on every level. It was so loud. But something about it felt right. Having that familiar sound in her ear felt natural. Like it was supposed to be there. Like she was home.

As she arrived on the third floor roof, a hand shoved into her satchel. It unearthed a twelve inch rectangle of thin, black metal. And with a flick of her wrist it expanded. It folded out in pieces. Locking together in a tight seal to make the arch of her bow.

The quiver was beneath her sweater. Little did Steve know, she never left home without it. Sara hurried to the edge of the roof and peered over. The firing stopped briefly then, and the officers below were moving a stationary battering ram into position to break through the SUV's window.

She drew back an arrow in the bow, calculating her aim for the officers below. She let it go. It sunk into the back of one of their necks. The hit one dropped, sending confusion and momentary shock into the others beside him.

Sara loaded arrow after arrow, sending them all down. A good handful of them went down before they found her position on the roof, then they started shooting at her. She ducked down behind the cement railing with a huffy exhale.

Bursts of cement dust shot up into the air as bullets pelted the railing, breaking away bits and pieces. She didn't wait for a lull. Sara crawled across the roof to the right side of the building and perched near the corner, loading in three arrows to finish off the ones with guns.

She inhaled, exhaled, raised the bow, and released the arrows. They shot through the vests of the S.W.A.T. agents below and the firing stopped. There was no time to take the stairs, so Sara pulled the bow string over her head, situated it against her chest, then vaulted over the side of the railing.

Three stories on her feet weren't anything to complain about. Her landing cracked the concrete beneath her, bowing it in a place and fracturing in into splitters. Once down, she was immediately up and running. She sprinted to the SUV and yanked open the driver's side door, revealing a battered looking Nick Fury in the passenger seat, huddled against the window.

"You're unbelievable," she glared, before climbing in and pulling the door closed. Then, to the car, she added, "Get the engine running. Find me an exit."

A second after the engine roared to life, Sara threw it in gear and stomped on the gas, just as more police cruisers were speeding toward them from behind. "Seventeenth Avenue is clear in six blocks," the car announced.

"Thank you," Sara mumbled, gritting her teeth as she swerved around a Tri Met bus. Incoherent shrill screams sounded from nearby pedestrians and cars as she was forced to ram into them to move by.

Driving wasn't normally easy, per say. But driving through a crowded street while men with guns were chasing you was nearly impossible, especially when there was an overly cranky man in the passenger seat back-seat driving and barking directional orders.

She swerved left, driving up onto the small sidewalk between lanes, and used it to angle around two cars at a stand still. Bullets shot at the back of the SUV non-stop. Sara's blood pressure was through the roof.

"Who taught you how to drive-!"

"Be quiet, you one-eyed cretin!" she hissed in response, flooring it for an open patch of road. "I'm not here because I like you. I'm here to save your life because you told me to. Unless you wanna die, stop giving me orders!"

Going sixty, the last her eyes flickered to the speedometer, she drifted around a wide curve heading left. It was a straight away with minimal cars, though she was still forced to swerve left and right to avoid them. "How did you even make it through the forties?" Fury questioned, rhetorical in his stressed tone.

"Without the back-seat driving of a man, that's for sure!" she responded, sending momentary daggers at the man.

A police cruiser was speeding up on their left. An officer hung himself out the window with an AK as they reached the SUV's position. He fired bullets at Sara's window. Her back instinctively pressed into the seat behind her, thrusting Fury back into his with an arm over his front. She'd never driven with one hand before, but she did for an entire block, and she elected to never do it again.

They passed by a semi truck, giving them some cover for all of about a minute. "Take the wheel!" Sara hollered, reaching into her satchel, unearthing her 9mm. As the car took control of the steering, she rolled on her back and kicked a foot through the rest of the window.

The fractals of glass spewed onto the road and she sat up. Bullets resumed firing into the SUV. Sara cocked the gun in her hand and aimed out the window, firing against the wind. "You don't pay me enough for this, Fury!"

Fury shouted in response, "I don't pay you at all!"

"That's exactly my point!"

Finally, one of her bullets nicked the officer in the shoulder, and he went tumbling from his cruiser onto the road. They reached an intersection. The SUV suddenly came slamming to a screeching halt just before it. The thrust slammed both Sara and Fury against the dashboard, and a large truck bulldozed the two cruisers speeding past them into the intersection.

"Give me the wheel," Sara groaned, pulling herself upright. There was a click, and Sara stepped on the gas, swerving across the intersection to the left.

"Get me off the grid!" Fury shouted at the car, about at his wit's end.

"Calculating route to a secure location," the car answered.

Sara was able to get the vehicle up to sixty again, barreling down the bear empty stretch of road. But through the haze of the bullet-hole-ridden windshield, her eyes could just barely make out a figure. Something black in the middle of the road. It only took a second for it to become clear that it was a man.

He held up some kind of gun looking weapon and pulled the trigger, sending a disk across the surface of the road, straight for the SUV. It shot beneath it and clung to its underside. And then it exploded. The back end of the vehicle was sent high in the air, shoving the front end into the road. It tipped forward and slammed the hood against the pavement and the SUV skidded along several yards.

Eventually, the SUV came to a stop, rocking slightly from the momentum. Fury groaned on his back. His seatbelt had broken and now he lay on his back against the broken glass that used to be the windshield.

Sara was still strapped in. She was slightly disoriented from the sudden nature of the crash, but her hand immediately went to her seatbelt. Giving it a hard yank, it broke free, and she dropped to her stomach against the glass. "You okay?" she asked, slightly groaning.

"I'm about to be worse," Fury answered, looking through the driver's side window over her shoulder blades. Seeing his line of sight, she turned her head to see out the window. A chill was sent down her spine.

The man in black from the road was marching toward the SUV, a gun hanging from his hand. Fury pulled out a small black device and, upon its activation, it sparked a blue looking flame. A blowtorch. "What are you doing?" Sara asked, perplexed as Fury began burning a hole in the road.

"Getting us out of here," he answered. "You coming or what?" In seconds, he'd burned a hole through the road and down into the sewer.

Sara was bewildered, but she was more concerned with the assassin after them. She looked through the window again as Fury lowered himself into the hole. Once he was in, she shoved her satchel and gun through, then slid in herself. Her small frame glided down the hole and her feet made a light splash in the water below.

Fury heaved in a breath, and Sara looked him over. From a medical standpoint, he didn't look so good. "We need to get you to my apartment," she said, diving a hand into her soaked satchel. Thankfully for her, the insides were pretty near dry.

She rummaged until she found her map. Finding the way back to the apartment building was a bit difficult, but together they managed to navigate through the city. It was just before dark when they finally made it there.

Sara had been holding Fury up for the past mile. She tried to appear nonchalant as she guided him through the front of the building and to the stairs, taking them one at a time at an agonizingly slow rate.

"Steve will be back soon, I'm sure," Sara tried to stay positive, sliding her key into the lock. "For now, you're stuck with me. How's your head?"

"On my shoulders," Fury mumbled, as they entered the apartment.

Sara sighed, closing the door and locking it behind them, then guiding Fury to sit in the chair in the corner of the living room. "I'll be right back," she held up a finger. She hurried down the hall to the bedroom's bathroom. More specifically, the cabinet below its sink.

She dug out the first aid kit she'd stowed under there over a week ago and pattered back to the living room. "I'm in the mood for music," Fury said, as she rounded the corner, causing her to pause in her stride. "Why don't you play something slow?"

His expression was anything but light-hearted as he said the words, and Sara was a bit unnerved by his seriousness. But she nodded and went to the record player near the window, putting on a random record Steve had lying around, and turned the music almost up as high as it could go. That way it would add background noise for anyone listening. It was too loud to hear whispers over.

Sara moved over to Fury, kneeling beside the chair to rummage through the first aid bag. The old tune playing brought back memories. She'd heard that song before, she knew, a very long time ago. She couldn't remember when exactly she'd heard it, though.

Sara used the contents of the bag to clean up the dried blood on Fury's face. It was all she had time for before she heard the door open. She leapt to her feet and hurried to the corner, peering her head around into the hallway.

Steve looked on alert, holding his shield ready, but he calmed upon seeing her, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "What's with the music?" he asked, walking toward her.

With a finger to her lips, she gestured with her hand as she stepped back from the corner. Steve was only put more on edge by her actions, but when he rounded the corner to the living room and saw Fury sitting in the corner, he understood then. It was a mission of some sort.

"My wife kicked me out," Fury said, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Steve eyed him. "I didn't know you were married."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," Fury responded.

Steve all but rolled his eyes as he reached for the light. Sara moved to stop him but he'd flicked on the lamp before she could. It illuminated the damage to Fury's face. Steve stood up a little straighter, looking to Sara with an intense expression. His features bent to make a stern 'what did you do?' look.

Her shoulders dropped as she titled her head. Her expression responding with an 'are you seriously asking me that?' reply. Fury reached up and pulled the chord on the lamp, clicking it off as he settled back into the chair. Then, using his phone, he typed out 'ears everywhere' and turned it for them to see.

Steve read the words, then glanced around the room as a sinking feeling hit his chest. "I'm sorry to do this, but I had no place else to crash," Fury continued. His next message read, 'shield compromised'.

"Who else knows about your wife?" Steve asked, stoic in tone.

Fury groaned as he pushed himself up to stand. "Just...my friends," he replied, holding out his cell phone yet again. This time it reading, 'the three of us'.

"Is that what we are?" Steve questioned.

"That's up to you," Fury resigned.

Sudden bursts of loud shots cracked in Sara's ears as Fury cried out, thrust forward a step by the force of bullets piercing his back and chest from holes in the wall behind him. For a split second, she couldn't move. Then it was like a switch in her mind flicked up.

She gasped in a breath and dove forward, grabbing Fury by the arm and dragging him backward. Steve helped, grabbing his other arm, and they moved him around the corner from the wall. Steve dropped his arm and made to move away, but Fury grabbed into his wrist to stop him, causing him to turn around once more.

Fury held up a grey flash drive in his palm. "Don't...trust...anyone," he wheezed.

Sara was pressing a kitchen towel to the holes in his chest. She looked to Steve. His eyes shifted down to hers with uncertainty, but a nod from her gave him the push he needed to take the drive.

A loud thud caught their attentions. It was followed by a feminine voice. "Captain Rogers?"

Steve paused. He knew that voice. Stepping up to the corner, he peered around to see the hallway. The blonde woman from the apartment across the hall, Kate. "Captain. I'm Agent Thirteen," she said, holding her gun ready as she took slow steps through the hall. "I'm S.H.I.E.L.D. special service. I've been assigned to protect you and Sergeant Riley."

"On who's order?" Steve demanded, angered by this revelation.

Agent Thirteen rounded the corner, but was stopped dead in her tracks by the scene before her. "His," she said, before quickly kneeling at Fury's side, opposite Sara. "Is he breathing?"

"Barely," Sara answered, hesitant to speak. After Fury's words, it was hard not to find this woman a threat. Thirteen pulled a black radio from her pocket and pressed the side button. "Foxtrot is down, he's unresponsive. I need EMTs," she spoke into it.

"Do we have a twenty on the shooter?" the radio spoke back.

Steve looked to the window. A black figure and something silver caught his eye as it started moving away. "Tell them I'm in pursuit," he said, before bounding for the window.

Thirteen moved to take over Sara's position. "Go," she told her. "I've got this."

She was reluctant to leave Fury in her hands, but Sara made a last minute decision, standing and grabbing her retracted bow from her satchel, then diving through the window after Steve. She'd been far behind. She could see Steve ahead, though, locked on the shooter's position in the chase. She kept running and followed them, right through the path Steve was clearing with his shield, all the way to the other side of the building.

Steve leapt through a window, and Sara hopped out just after he did. He launched his shield at the escaping shooter on the other side of the roof. The shooter turned, just in time to catch the shield speeding toward him.

Sara drew back an arrow in her bow. It was then she realized it was the same assassin from the road. The one that blew up Fury's SUV with them inside. His eyes shifted to her, almost as if he'd recognized her, too.

With his silver appendage, the shooter launched the shield right back at Steve. It slammed against Steve's hands, pushing him back inches from the force. Sara was bewildered by the strength behind his throw. The only people able to do that would be someone like them, she knew. Which meant there was another super soldier on the playground.

In a second the shooter was gone off the side of the roof. She slid away her arrow and dashed for the edge after him, but he'd completely disappeared. Sirens wailed not too far off in the distance.

Steve hurried to join her side as she folded down her bow with a heavy exhale. "How did you get involved with this?" he questioned, glancing to her beside him.

"Fury called me, said it was an emergency," Sara answered, honestly. "Apparently he just needed a getaway driver. And a place to die."

Steve sighed and gave a shake of his head. "He's not going to die."

Sara felt sympathetic at his optimism. She knew the stakes, knew how much blood is lost after a bullet pierces your chest. Fury was hit with three. "I know the human anatomy better than the back of my own hand, Steve. It doesn't look good," she resigned. She turned on her heel and started back for the apartment.

Steve still looked to the street. He was scanning, desperate to find even just a glimpse of something that could lead him to the shooter. Fury was never someone he liked talking to. Steve did his best to avoid the man in any case not involving a mission. But he wasn't about to let something like this go unnoticed, not to one of his own. Not on his watch.


	7. Chapter Six: A Promotion

PAST

They arrived at the base in no time. And when they did, there were a plethora of faces surprised to see them alive. Sara paid no mind. Her fingers worked to screw in a head to her arrow as she walked a stride behind Bucky and Steve, focused completely on her task.

The gates to the base opened for the rescued prisoners of war, and soldiers lined their path with applause. They walked through into the base until the sight of Colonel Phillips sent a shiver down Steve's spine. The man did not look happy. Agent Carter was at his side, squeezing through the soldiers to keep up with him.

Steve halted the line of men to salute the Colonel as he approached. Sara Slid her arrow into the quiver at her back, giving a half-hearted salute that wasn't nearly as sincere as Steve's. "Some of these men need medical attention," Rogers said. Just then, someone in the crowd was shouting to a medic. "I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action."

Sara sidestepped, moving to stand at Steve's side. "As would I, sir."

"That won't be necessary," the Colonel decided, resting his hands on his hips. There was a gleam of something in his features, maybe even an inch of pride. Steve nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, for the first time actually starting to respect this man.

Colonel Phillips glanced at Sara. "Good work, Sergeant. You just might belong here yet." With that, he turned his back them, saying something to Carter before moving through the crowd.

The Agent stepped up to Steve, rather closely. "You're late," she admonished.

Steve held up his transponder. It was broken and torn in half. "I couldn't call my ride," he jokingly defended. Sara glanced between them, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Just then, Bucky began shouting. "Hey!" he said, into the crowd. "Let's hear it for Captain America!"

Finally, something he's done that Sara actually agreed with. She applauded and shouted her approval along with the rest of the rescued soldiers. Bucky looked to Sara next. "And Sergeant Sara Riley!" he added, drawing her attention.

The crowd continued to applaud, not having seem to have noticed his addition, but Sara did. Her lips curved up into a smile-smirk that tugged at all her features, and Bucky was smiling right back, proud to have both super soldiers as allies and, eventually, be able to call both friend.

* * *

Sara sighed, fidgeting with the waist line of her black dress. "This dress is ridiculous."

"You'd think any dress was ridiculous," Peggy pointed out, tiredly. "Come along. We have business remember?"

Giving yet another heavy sigh, Sara linked her arm with Peggy's outstretched one, and the two headed into the pub. "You mean talking to Steve Rogers?" Sara grinned a little.

Peggy scoffed. "Oh, please. Get your mind out of the gutter."

"Yes. Someone has to make room for yours."

Agent Carter gave the girl a look, only eliciting a light chuckle from Sara as they walked in through the entrance, across the dining-like area, turning almost every male head in the building. "This was a _great_ idea," Sara commented, sarcastically.

"You look gorgeous. Be proud of it," Peggy told her, in a hushed tone. They rounded the corner of the bar toward the back half, slowing to a stop upon finding Steve and Bucky sitting on stools at the bar. Both men immediately stood, each equally fixated on the women before them.

Steve, nor Bucky, had ever seen Sara with her hair down or Agent Carter in such a stunning dress. Both were equally as shockingly beautiful. "Captain," Peggy greeted, looking only at Rogers.

"Agent Carter," Steve nodded once. His eyes slid to Sara. "Sergeant Riley."

Peggy gave Sara's reluctant arm a tug, forcing Sara to take steps closer to the men with her. "Howard has some equipment for you to try," Peggy told Steve. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Sounds good," Steve agreed.

"Looks like your boys are having fun," Sara mused, the ghost of a smile present on her lips as she eyed the men at the table in the dining area.

"You're more than welcome to join them," Bucky commented, with a smile.

Her gaze shifted to the Sergeant's. "Don't tempt me, soldier. I just might."

" _You_ sing?" Steve asked, surprised.

Sara shrugged up one shoulder. "On occasion," she answered. "But usually I just dance. I haven't in years, though. What do you think, Agent Carter? Want to go dancing when this over?"

"When it's over? No, no, no- that's way too long to wait," Bucky protested, with that playful tone of his. His eyes shined, aimed only at her.

"Then when should I?" she asked, humoring him. She tilted her head, shifting her weight from heel to heel, curious-yet-skeptic, her best attempt at a flirt.

"No time like the present," Steve shook his head momentarily, sliding his hand into his pockets.

Sara mentally scorned him for helping his idiot friend in his mission to woo her, but outwardly she maintained her position, eyes not shifting away even for a second. "If you're trying to work up the nerve to ask me to dance," she slipped her arm from Peggy's. "Then you better take your friend's advice, soldier."

Bucky smirked, hands in his pockets. "Wanna dance?"

"Yes," Sara nodded once, trying not to smile, destined to fail in her mission to act uninterested. He held out his hand as he took a step toward her and she willingly placed her hand in his. "Then what are we waiting for?" he asked, lowering his voice in their close proximity.

They went into the dining area, closer to the music, leaving their less bold friends behind. Bucky made a point of making a hand gesture, telling Sara to stay put, while he went ahead and spoke to the man at the organ. It was a short conversation, and when it was done, the organist began to play a slower tune.

Bucky came back to Sara, taking her hand again, slightly spinning her toward the left as he went around her so they could face each other. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, and his slid to higher up on her waist. The closeness of the position was new, an odd sensation to someone who'd never quite gotten close to anyone in her life. Someone just like Sara Riley.

Sara had spent too long trying to prove she was worthy of a man's respect, trying to prove that she was just as good if not better than them, to ever even consider one as a match romantically. But this was so different. Their bodies swaying to the slow music, his face so close to her own. No matter what she did it was like his eyes were magnets, forcing them to stay.

She forced herself to swallow under his gaze. "Careful, Sergeant. I might just swoon," she said, just above a whisper, unable to speak any louder in that moment.

"Oh, so now I'm a Sergeant?" he quipped, quick to jump on the change in titles. "I thought I was just a soldier."

"That was before I knew you danced so well," she replied. "You deserved the promotion."

An eyebrow cocked teasingly on his forehead. "So, nothing else? _Just_ my dancing?"

"Just your dancing," she nodded, smiling at the thought of making him squirm, making him work for whatever he was going to get by the night's end.

"Okay, tough lady," he exhaled, keeping up an unbothered demeanor. "We'll pretend that's the reason."

An unbelieving huff of a laugh escaped Sara. "Wow, you are _incredibly_ confident."

"Thank you, that's the nicest thing you've said to me," he said, jokingly.

She gave him a look. "You honestly expect me to fall in love you? I know nothing about you," she replied, neutrally. "Well, other than the fact that you're very accustomed to having every woman in the room's attention and you're a good shot."

"Okay, I see your point. What do you want to know? My favorite color?" he smiled.

"Yes," she returned the smile. "Start there."

He huffed an airy chuckle. "Blue. And yours?"

"Red. It's dark and seductive and passionate. But it's also deep and confident," she answered, honestly. Bucky took that as an opportunity. A moment to strike, so to speak. Spinning her out and pulling her back in, her back touching his chest, arms crossed over her front. She could feel his breath on her exposed shoulder.

Her eyes shifted left, her head turning slightly along with them. There was only a sparse handful of inches between them then. The air changed. It was thick and tense and warm, bringing a tightening sensation to her stomach, constricting the breathing in her chest, but at the same time making her heart drop to her toes.

"Why the fetish with arrows?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper, hot against her ear.

She could barely breathe, but she forced herself to speak. "They're something I can control," she explained, quietly. "If my gun jams, both me and my men are dead."

"That's actually a really good explanation," he commented, surprise in his tone.

The right end of her lips pulled up. "Did you expect something else?"

Finally he released his grip, spinning her again. This time pulling her in facing him, catching her in her original position against his front, but closer than before. So much so that her nose just escaped bumping right into his. It caught her off guard, the lack of space. Though not a bone in her body truly minded.

There was a moment of silence. An odd tension between them that was unexplainable in Sara's mind. Her eyes scanned his expectantly, but not seeing what she was looking for. It was so confusing. This man was obviously talented with women, and yet he hadn't made a move when given the perfect opportunity.

"Why haven't you kissed me?" she questioned, whispering.

"I've got orders. Can't touch you unless you say so," he whispered in reply, keeping a straight face, though the outskirts of his lips were threatening to make a smile.

Her eyes softened as a genuine smile graced her lips, unlike the ones before it. This time she smiled because she wanted to, because it felt right. "Sergeant Barnes, you are something else," she said, almost chuckling.

"What is it with you and the compliments tonight? You're gonna give me a complex." Though she wanted to quip with something smart like 'as if you don't already have one', she could not form those words. Instead they were a whisper, words only meant for him, ones she thought she'd never utter.

Her smile faded out gently across her features as she looked at him seriously, "Kiss me, Sergeant."

"Yes, ma'am."

The soft smile on his lips melded together with hers as he leaned in, his left hand sliding onto the soft skin of her cheek. And it felt like fire, like a bright, wild, mesmerizing blaze about to scorch everything left in its path.

"Looks like Howard owes me money," Peggy noted, watching from beside Steve. Steve chuckled, though he was mostly baffled. No woman had looked at Bucky twice while Captain America was an alternative, and yet the one woman in the whole pub that'd consistently turned down every man in her presence, was the one to give the poor Sergeant the time of day he needed.

"Were you waiting to see if she'd kiss Bucky or just someone in general?" Steve inquired.

"Definitely Bucky. They make quite the handsome pair, wouldn't you say?" Peggy asked, looking to Steve. "Make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble, Captain." With that said, she was heading out for the exit.

His eyes followed her out. Once she was out of sight, he looked back to the budding romance before him. Except there wasn't one. Bucky and Sara were gone. Steve sighed heavily. "Great," he mumbled, under his breath.

They hadn't gone far, just down the street, actually, walking slowly. Sara's arm was secured around his, keeping her at his side, but she didn't mind. "Why does Steve call you _Em_?" Bucky asked her, curiously.

"My middle name is Marie, so my closest friends call me that," Sara explained.

Bucky hummed a moment, mulling it over. "Sara Marie...it has a ring to it."

"I'll be sure to tell my parents they decided well when I get back home," she chuckled.

"You're going back, after the war? To Germany?"

Sara had to think about how to answer that question. There was a sinking rock in Bucky's chest. To think that she'd be gone in no time at all, and he'd only just started to spend time with her. She inhaled a cold breath. "To Israel," she decided, moving her eyes to meet his. "That's my home. But, I suppose, I might just be bothered to visit the states again."

"Could you be bothered to stay?" he asked, using curiosity to mask his disappointment of the news.

She understood then the meaning behind it. It was in his eyes. The way they drooped after being so bright not moments ago, before she'd opened her big mouth. "I don't know...I'd have to have a pretty good reason," she answered.

Her light grin ghosted up to her eyes, but inside she was desperate. Desperate to see him smile again, to see his eyes light up. She would probably say just about anything. He caught her playful undertone, and he stopped walking to turn to her.

An eyebrow rose on her forehead instinctively, questioningly. "Is Steve a good enough reason?" he inquired. She exhaled, thinking a moment. Then she shook her head, tilting it on her shoulders in a tired expression.

He nodded, mostly to himself, as he looked down. Then after a moment his eyes moved back to hers. "What about me?" he proposed the idea. She righted herself at the question, the thought behind it sobering her mind.

Would she stay longer in the states for a man? If you'd asked her such a question an hour ago, she would have laughed and called you crazy. But right then she truly didn't know the answer. She took a step forward, putting a hand on his cheek to pull him in the inch needed to kiss his lips.

It was different than the one they'd shared in the pub. It wasn't soft and gentle and cautious. It was open mouthed and passionate, hungry and curious. His hands moved to her back to keep her close. Her fingers glided through his short brown hair.

What a sensation it was to feel connected to someone. How she'd overlooked such a feeling for so long would forever be a mystery to her. When she broke the kiss, her face remained only an inch apart from his. "Maybe," she finally answered him.

He whispered in reply, "I'll take it."

* * *

Howard Stark lead the way into the weapons room of the underground base, Steve Rogers close on his heels. "Fondue is just cheese and bread, my friend," Howard said.

"Really?" Steve was bewildered. "I didn't think-"

"Nor should you, pal. The moment you think you know what's going on in a woman's head is the moment your goose is well and truly cooked," Stark replied.

"You would know," Sara smirked, walking over from an adjacent table.

Howard made a pfft. "Please, Em, why do you have to make everything personal?"

Sara's eyes narrowed, stopping a foot from the men. "It's my job."

"Where did you get off to last night?" Steve inquired, a knowing smile on his lips. Howard only became more intrigued, glancing between them.

Sara kept her chin up and shoulders squared, unfazed by the insinuative comment. She smiled, "Ask your friend."

For a split second Howard was confused. But it didn't take his sharp mind long to put two and two together. He smiled. "Awe, does someone finally have a sweetheart?" he teased.

Sara gave a toss of her eyes. "Where are the darn weapons, Stark?"

Howard looked to Rogers, snapping into business mode. "I hear you're quite attached to your shield," he said. "I took the liberty of coming up with some alternatives." He gestured for them to follow as he started a fast pace for a table just behind Sara.

Stark began explaining the strange designs of the examples. Sara was disgusted by the look of most of them. Steve wasn't even paying attention, something had caught his eye below the table, something silver and round.

He bent to pick it up. "What about this one?"

"No, no. That's just a prototype," Howard waved a hand.

"What's it made of?" Steve asked, holding the circular shield in both hands now, tone full of amazement.

Howard stopped his forward movement to answer. "Vibranium," he said. "It's stronger than steel, a third the weight. It's completely vibration absorbent."

Steve slid his arm through the hand holds to test it, examine the weight. "How come it's not standard issue?" he inquired.

"That's the rarest metal on earth. What you're holding there? It's all we've got."

"Okay, okay. He gets a shield. Why am _I_ here?" Sara asked, stepping up closer to the men.

Howard grinned and walked around the other end of the table. "I'm glad you asked, Em," he beamed. He went to the next table over. It was littered with guns and various weapons of the sort, but at the end was a different set up. An archery section.

Sara followed Stark in his path to the table. He picked up an arrow. "This, right here? Explodes on impact," he held it up for her to see. "There's a trigger in the nock, making the arrowhead pressure sensitive. It hits something and boom! Bye-bye, Germans."

Her fingers snatched the arrow from his hand, bringing it closer to her eyes to further examine it. "And you're sure it works?" she asked, mostly rhetorical.

"Of course it works," he scoffed.

"Hey, Sara," Steve called. She twisted to see him, and he smiled as held up the silver circle. "What do you think?"

Sara turned back to the table and picked up the only bow there, loaded in one of Howard's explosive arrows, and before anyone had caught onto her, she faced Steve again as she drew it back. In a second she'd aimed and fired, giving Rogers only a moment to duck his head down behind the shield.

The Arrow in fact exploded on impact, a small but hot fire that left scorch marks up the front of the shield. Steve looked horrified as his head slowly popped back up above the shield. Sara turned to see Howard. She smiled, "It'll work."


	8. Chapter Seven: Ghost Story

PRESENT

Her hands were shaking at her sides, stained a tinge of red from the evening's events. She shifted her weight from heel to heel, then she crossed her arms. Nothing was working. None of the ways she fidgeted or moved eased any of her anxiousness.

Sara was shaken up from the day, yes, but her mind was too deeply concerned with the man on the operating table on the other side of the glass in front of her to worry about the assassin. Steve was silent where he stood leaned into the wall below the glass on his palms beside her. Maria Hill stood feet back from them, silent as well. All three watched in silence. None knew what to say, nor did any of them feel like talking.

Suddenly Natasha burst through the door into the small dark room, coming to stand at the glass on the other side of Sara. "Is he gonna make it?" she asked, watching the procedure in a contained shock.

Steve shook his head. "I don't know."

"Sara?" Natasha turned to look at the other super soldier in the room. "Is he going to make it?"

Sara bit her bottom lip and sighed through her nose, once again shifting weight in her feet, then she gave a small shake of her head. "It's inconclusive. There's a chance he could make it...but it's small."

"And the shooter?" Natasha look back to the glass.

"He's fast, strong..." Steve recounted.

"He had a metal arm," Sara added, quietly. "There was a red star on it."

Natasha tried to keep her composure at the new information, "Ballistics?"

"Three slugs. No rifling. Completely untraceable," Hill said, stepping up to the glass.

"Soviet-made," Natasha realized aloud.

Hill looked to her, a bit surprised. "Yeah."

A commotion began in the operating room, surgeon's calling to nurses for aide as the heart monitor flat-lined. Sara's heart sank, and Natasha was just barely holding herself together. The Nurses brought in a crash cart. "Don't do this to me, Nick," Natasha whispered.

The doctors and nurses could not restart Fury's heart. They called time of death and Steve exhaled a heavy breath as he turned around. But Sara was gone, gone to the unisex bathroom down the hall. She ran the hottest water the hospital sinks had to offer. She scrubbed and scrubbed, grinded her fingernails against her flesh until she bled, but the stain remained.

Sara took a step back, steadying herself against the counter with her palms pressed into the granite, as a wave of nausea washed over her. It felt like she were about to drown in it, along with her sudden dizziness. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. And then it hit her.

She turned on her heel and rushed to the toilet seat, throwing the lid up as she dropped to her knees, retching up anything in her stomach from the last twenty-four hours. She coughed and sputtered as she sat back on her heels, heaving in air, trembling in her exhales. It was too much. Death, losing someone. Everything about the notion brought her to nineteen forty-four. That wretched day on the train.

Steve walked the length of the hall, eyes scanning every inch of it for Sara's form. On his way back from the other end, Sara emerged from the bathroom, eyes downcast and visibly shaken up. "Em," he said, arriving at her side. "You okay?"

She looked up at him, shaking her head a bit. "Not really, no. I just- I just keep seeing it, you know?" she made a hand gesture toward her right temple. "It's in my head and it won't stop."

"Come here." He exhaled and pulled her to his chest by her shoulders. Her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck as she squeezed her eye lids closed, desperately gripping the front folds of his jacket with her shaking hands.

With her eyes closed, her mind was black. Though it was only for a moment it was still much more pleasant than the alternative. Then she didn't see anything, she felt it. Comforting warmth, a steadfast heartbeat, and the scent of musk in her nostrils. It was a familiar emotion flooding her senses. It felt like she was home. In the pub, with Bucky's arms around her, ignoring everyone else in the building. Like it was just the two of them. Even the notes from the song playing filtered through her eardrums.

Maria Hill walked down the hall to them just then. Sara didn't notice, she was too encompassed in her own little world, face buried in Steve's jacket. But Steve was perfectly lucid and able to answer her question. "Is she alright?" she asked, jutting her chin in Sara's direction.

Steve inhaled. "She will be."

"Cap, they need you back at HQ," Rumlow said, walking up from behind. He stood a few feet to the side of Steve, maintaining a casual distance. Steve's shoulders dropped. Maria let her arms fall to her sides, standing up straighter. "I can take her home," she offered.

"Thank you," Steve nodded. He looked down at Sara then, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Em? I gotta go. Go with Hill back to the apartment and I'll be there soon, alright?"

Sara was reluctant to step back, but she did, nodded and forcing the stray strands of her hair behind her ears. She sniffled and wiped her eyes in a quick swipe. "Yeah, okay. Be careful."

"You, too." He tipped his head down, cupping her cheeks with his hands long enough to place a lingering kiss to the top of her head, and then he was gone, leaving down the hall with Rumlow.

Hill drove Sara to Steve's apartment. There was still a hole in the wall and the living room window was shattered, but it was the safest feeling place in the city. Sara moved to open her door to exit the vehicle, when Maria's voice stopped her. The woman said, "If you need anything, just call."

Sara nodded a little. "Thanks."

Hill returned the nod, and Sara slid out of the vehicle. Her door had just barely closed before the car was rolling away, turning the corner, disappearing. She sighed. Her whole body shook, but she wasn't cold. She reeked of anxiety.

There was no way she could sleep. So she sat on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest and covered by a blanket, with a mug full of warm coffee in her hands atop her knee caps. And there she sat until morning. The coffee had been long gone by the time the sun came up. But she knew the second she closed her eyes, she would see it again. So she kept them open.

The rev of an engine jolted her body into a looser sitting position as her feet dropped off the side of the couch. She pushed up and pattered to the broken window. Here eyes scanned the street. For a heart-pounding second, she thought maybe she would have to arm herself. But there was nothing. A knock at the front door nearly gave her a heart attack.

Exhaling to keep herself calm, she scuffled to the door, pressing her eyes to the peep hole. She unlocked the door with a groan. Natasha smiled slyly as Sara pulled open the door. "Hey, soldier," she greeted, crossing her arms. "Long time, no see."

"What do you want, Romanoff?" Sara questioned, uninterested.

"Aren't you gonna invite me in first? I thought people had better manners in the forties," Natasha mused, tilting her head.

Sara's jaw clenched. If it wasn't such a public place, she would shut her up in a second. But she couldn't, so she stepped back, pulling the door open all the way, and gestured lazily with a hand. "Get in," she spat.

Natasha strolled into the apartment and Sara closed the door, making sure to lock it behind her. "Looks like you've been busy," Natasha commented, eyeing the crumpled blanket on the couch. "What, is Steve not letting you on the bed?"

Sara gave a toss of her eyes as she went into the kitchen. "I was on the couch because I didn't sleep," she corrected, pouring herself another cup of coffee. "What do you want?"

Natasha came into the kitchen. She leaned foreword on the island, across from Sara, and waited for Sara to turn around before speaking. "Steve gave you something. I need it," Natasha answered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"That little drive? Come on, I saw him slip it in your pocket at the hospital."

Sara scoffed, "Even if he did give me something, why on God's green earth would I ever give it to _you_? Fury's last words were 'don't trust anyone'. And I didn't trust you _before_ that."

Natasha made a pfft, "Really? And here I thought you were smarter than that."

"Insulting me right now seems like a good idea because...?" Sara's eyes narrowed drastically. "Search me, you won't find anything."

"That's because you changed your clothes," Natasha pointed out.

Sara sighed heavily. She placed her mug on the island before her and ambled to the bedroom. She's left her clothes from last night on the floor by the bed. Without the emotional strength to pick them up, that was where they remained. She knelt beside the wadded up outfit and begrudgingly stuffed her hands into her pants pockets. They rummaged around for something. What specifically, they weren't sure.

It was then that they stubbed into something hard. In the left side pocket, she pulled out the drive Fury had given to Steve. Her eye focused on it in perplexing disbelief. She tried to think back to last night, to remember the precise moment he'd slipped it in her pocket. But she couldn't find it. Her mind was too much of a blank surface at that time to possibly see it.

A loud thud shot her to her feet, sent her in a fast walk to the living room. What she saw when she entered the room was baffling. Steve had Natasha pinned to the living room wall. Natasha looked displeased with the aggressive nature to Steve's actions, but she didn't fight him.

"Steve?" Sara called, her feet stopping her motion just past the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

Steve twisted at the sound of her voice, his eyes immediately on her. They flooded with relief when seeing her unharmed. Sara's eyebrows creased as she raised her shoulders and thrusted out her arms. "Let her go," she said, as though the action should be obvious.

Reluctantly, he loosed his grip on the agent, and Natasha adjusted her jacket to fix its place on her shoulders. "Are you okay?" Steve asked, taking steps toward Sara.

"Yeah...?" Sara was confused, as he pulled her into a tight hug. With her chin on his shoulder, her eyes drifted left, toward his neck. They focused on a dark smear that looked a lot like ash. Instinctively, she stepped back, gripping his biceps to keep him close. Her wide eyes moved from his neck up to his. "What happened to you?" she questioned, worriedly.

In stepping back, she could see there were more smears of black dusted up the side of his face, leaving a clear path were his cowl used to be. Steve exhaled. "Had a little problem at headquarters. Rumlow's dirty."

"What?" Sara couldn't believe it. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he nodded, though his eyes looked tired. Natasha's loud clearing of her throat broke through the moment, causing Steve to sigh heavily as he turned to see her behind him. His arm stayed around Sara, moving to her lower back to rest there, to keep her near his side. His protective nature didn't bother Sara. What did bother her was the fast that Natasha was still in their apartment.

"Find the drive?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly as she looked to Sara.

Sara held up the grey device. "Want it? Tell me who killed Fury."

"What makes you think-?"

"Do you want the drive?" Sara reiterated, more forcefully. "Hm? Tell me. I know you know more than you're letting on. You _always_ do."

Natasha gave a heavy huff of a sigh as she folded her arms across her middle, "Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones that do call him 'The Winter Soldier'. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations within the last fifty years."

"So he's a ghost story," Steve observed.

"Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa, we lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out. But The Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my asset so he shot him," Natasha tugged up her shirt. "Straight through me."

Sara's eyes drifted down, landing on the thick line of puckered skin adjacent to Natasha's naval. Romanoff made a facial expression with a momentary smirk. "Bye-bye, bikinis," she commented.

"Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now," Steve stoically quipped.

"Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried," Natasha continued. "Like you said, he's a ghost story."

Sara was refraining from rolling her eyes. "We need to find out what this 'ghost' wants," she said. "But I'm guessing opening this thing would require a public computer, something untraceable?"

"Wow, did they teach you that in the forties or did you take a course at MIT?" Natasha patronized, causing Sara to glare daggers. "Put on your most inconspicuous street clothes. We're going to the mall."

With a small groan of displeasure, Sara shoved the drive into Steve's chest and turned on her heel, stepping off to the bedroom to retrieve her clothes. Steve tucked the drive into his pocket, but not without a stern look to Natasha. "Give her a break, will you?" he said.

"Please, Rogers, I only act like I hate her," Natasha let her arms fall to her sides. "You can't go easy on her because you've got a crush."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. He opened his mouth to respond, but Sara's shout from the bedroom sounded first, "Steve! I don't think your suit categorizes as 'street clothes'!"

* * *

"First rule of going on the run is: don't run, walk," Natasha said, somewhat quietly, as she walked in step with Steve on her left.

"If I run in these shoes, they're gonna fall off," Steve replied.

Sara's left eyebrow arched momentarily. "That might actually be fun to watch."

Steve looked down at her beside him. "You're not helping," he sighed. Then, eyebrows creased, he asked, "Why are you staying behind?"

"It's suspicious if all three of us are walking in sync like a set of robots, don't you think?" Sara asked, rhetorically.

She was only a few inches behind his position, but it was bothersome to have her so far out of his line of sight. Steve sighed and grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers tightly with her, and gave her a tug. It forced her to move closer to his side, walking a bit faster to stay there.

The three of them made it to the Apple store in little time. Natasha found a display laptop to her liking and plugged in the drive, playing around with the desktop a moment to appear as though she were looking to buy it. Steve sidled up next to her to see what she was doing.

Sara wondered off to the other side of the display table, uninterested in the intricacies of using a computer. It was a skill she failed to learn after coming out of the ice. Sure, it was probably something she would need to know eventually. Everything was accessible via the world wide web, but Sara was perfectly content not knowing what was on it.

She acted as though she were perusing the display computers, taking slow steps down the line, eyeing each one. She'd travelled the rim of the entire store before returning to the computer Natasha was using. "Are you done yet?" she asked, a bit bored.

"It's gonna be a few more minutes," Natasha said, her eyebrows creased in concentration as her eyes remained focused on the screen. Sara sighed. Just then, an employee stepped over to the table. "Anything I can help you with today?" he asked, a bit hesitant to interrupt.

"Oh, no, my sister's getting married to this guy right here," Natasha said, smiling bright. She squeezed Sara's shoulder at the mention of a sister, and hung on Steve's at 'this guy'. "We're just checking out some honeymoon destinations!"

"Right, we're...getting married," Steve smiled awkwardly, nodding a little. Natasha slinked back to the computer, typing away rapidly. In a second, Sara had changed demeanors from bored out of her mind to giddy and over excited. She looped her arms around Steve's bicep and held on tightly, smiling bright enough to light up her entire face. "Congrats," the employee said. "Where are you thinking about going?"

Steve's mind blanked. As inconspicuously as possible, he flickered his eyes toward the computer, sidestepping closer into Sara to get a better look. "Uh- New Jersey," he answered.

Sara nearly broke character at that. Of all the places in the world to go on a honeymoon, New Jersey would not be her first choice. Sara doubted that it would be anyone's first choice, but she supposed it was possible.

Suddenly the employee froze, narrowing his eyes. The man was obviously thinking about something, quiet for a short moment, staring at Steve rather intensely. "I have the exact same glasses," he finally said.

"Wow, you two are practically twins," Natasha commented, barely listening.

The employee chuckled. "Ha, I wish," he gestured up and down Steve's frame once with his hands. "Specimen." Steve's comfortably in this situation dropped at that moment, completely unsure how to respond.

Sara only continued to smile, chuckling at his comment, as if she knew entirely what it meant. She understood the gist, though, and she agreed with him. But she would never actually voice that agreement.

"If you guys need anything," the employee stepped back, holding up his name tag. "I have been Aaron."

"Thank you," Steve nodded. The employee walked away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Steve turned to Natasha. "Come on, you said nine minutes."

"Hold on..." Natasha replied. The screen circled in on a specific location: Wheaton, New Jersey. Steve recognized it instantly. "What, you know it?"

"I used to," he nodded.

"We need to leave," Sara said, her eyes locked on the mall entrance to the store. Steve glanced at her a second before following her line of sight.

Natasha pulled the drive and started for the door, throwing two words over her shoulder, "Come on."

Sara rolled her eyes, but followed Natasha out of the store, Steve on her heels. The three darted out into the heavy mall traffic, walking quickly for the exit. "Standard tac team," Steve said. "Two behind, two across, two coming straight at us."

"Sara, start laughing," Natasha said. "Act like he said something funny. Now."

Sara wouldn't call herself a good actress. But she laughed on cue, leaning into Steve's side opposite Natasha, copying Romanoff's girlish reaction to a supposed comment. It was hideous to watch, Sara was sure. But the agents walking toward them stepped right by without a second glance.

As soon as they were gone, Sara stepped away from Steve. "I feel disgusting," she grumbled.

"You get used to it," Natasha replied, practically stoic.

The three made it to the escalator. Natasha stepped on first, followed by Sara, who was then closely followed by Steve. Sara turned sideways to look up at him from her step below. "What is going on with you?" she questioned, with a hushed tone.

His eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she tilted her head in an expression. "If I wanted a guard dog, I would've bought a pit bull."

"Shut up and act natural," Natasha said, turning to lean back into the side of the escalator, pretending to be typing out a message on her powered down iPhone.

Sara looked to her, confused, but she quickly saw the reasoning for such an exclamation. Rumlow was on the escalator heading up as they were going down. He was getting closer and neither Steve nor Sara had any idea what to do.

It was a second's decision, made without the proper thought. Sara's fingers gripped the front folds of Steve's jacket and tugged him down to her height as her toes pushed her upward, forcing his lips to connect with hers long enough for Rumlow to pass. It didn't end once he was gone. Instead, they lingered a moment longer there. Not touching, just hovering less than an inch away, fighting gravity enough to stay apart, eyelids left unopened.

It wasn't what she'd expected. Sara didn't know what it should've felt like. She'd only ever kissed one other man, and this was nothing like that, but it wasn't bad at all. It was a good feeling. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye when she finally moved away, so she turned away with her eyes downcast until she'd turned her back to him fully. Steve was stuck. It felt like his feelings on the event were warring too strong in his chest to move.

Natasha looked up to Sara, a smirk on her lips. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Romanoff commented. "Was he really that bad?"


	9. Chapter Eight: Winter Soldier

PAST

"Are you sure this will work?" Rogers asked, more for affirmation than anything else. He looked to Sara, knelt to one knee beside him, mirrored in his position.

She was loading an explosive arrow into her bow. Her right eyebrow dropped as her left eyebrow rose, giving her features an almost humorous expression as she returned his glance. "It'll work, Rogers," she assured. Then, glancing to Morita on her left, she added, "We've been planning this for weeks."

Morita nodded in agreement. "Now all we need is a tank to try it out." He moved further to the left in the foliage near a cluster of trees to get a better look at the road ahead of them.

Sara stood from a crouch and edged around Steve's backside to move into position. Dugan, Jones, Falsworth, Dernier, and Bucky all knelt behind Rogers. They all awaited the tank, mostly so that they could see who would cash out in the event about to take place.

About half of the men placed bets that it would go South and they'd have a fire fight on their hands. The other half of them bet that it would work. In a moment, the tank was driving by them. When it was time, Morita gave a whistle, signaling Dernier. Dernier then grabbed his canister of explosives and darted out into the road before the tank. He dropped to the ground and let it pass over him, attaching the canister to the underbelly of the tank as it did. He stood after it'd passed.

Sara drew back her bow and leveled her aim for the rolling tank. The Commandos all stood to get a better look at the catastrophe sure to ensue. Sara loosed the arrow. And not a second later, the canister was erupted, blowing the tank high into the air. Dernier smiled and thrusted out his arms at the victory, clapping his hands once in excitement. He looked back to the Commandos, who were all relieved.

Dugan cracked a smile, chuckling at his comrade's reaction. Sara looked back to the men from her position not too far away, leaned into a tree, and locked eyes with Bucky. The end of his lips curved up as he gave a singular nod. Pride was the only color to his features.

Her aim had been fine for the most part. But it had greatly improved over the weeks of destroying Hydra facilities, and that was mostly thanks to Sergeant Barnes. It was drastically different from shooting a gun, but the basic building blocks of aiming a weapon was all the same. The tips and tricks he was able to impart to her was a great success.

* * *

The Commandos moved on. They made a stop to plan ahead their next moves, and then were onto the nearest Hydra facility in the area. Getting in, killing as many Hydra agents as you can, and depositing explosive charges were the three main tasks that were focused on. And yet again they destroyed the building and moved on.

It went like this for more weeks. Months were soon how they counted. The men were exhausted after a full forty-eight hours of battles one night, and Steve made the command decision to make camp, halfway to intercept point for the train. The next target for the team.

Sara made a fire using the disassembled bits of one of the arrowheads Stark had given her. Dugan, Dernier, Falsworth, and Jones all came to sit beside the kindling flame as she added a few small branches and bark pieces to get it going. "I gotta say," Dugan began, a sarcastic expression on his face. "You make a nice addition to the team."

Sara smirked and looked up at him across the fire. "Just try not to annoy me too much, okay?" she stood, wiping off her hands on her pants. "I don't want to have to hurt that pretty face of yours."

"Whoa, Sara, I thought we talked about this. Soldiers are friends, not food," Bucky quipped, approaching the fire.

"Very funny." She shook her head, but failed to hide her smile.

Steve dropped to sit a foot to the right of Dugan and the others, exhaling as his tired bones hit the ground. They'd seen much action in the time they spent out. It almost felt odd to rest. There was a bit of a quiet across the fire. Only a few words spouted from a couple of the men now and then.

But in the silence, Sara inhaled a breath of cold night air. "I'm going to hunt down some more fire wood," she announced.

Bucky perked up at her words, moving to follow her as she started to step away from the fire, seeing his chance. "I'll go with you," he said. She glanced back at him, but Sara didn't protest. She simply continued on in an unbothered fashion, acting indifferent to it.

It'd become nothing new for them to pair together, so none of the Commandos noticed it much anymore, nor did any of them resign to be bothered by it. Steve, however, was not as at ease as he'd like to say he was. It was wonderful that his friends had bonded. That they'd taken an interest in each other. But he knew that at any moment either of them could be lost. He'd rather not think about it, though it was all he could think about.

Steve knew the dangerous game they were playing and, out of concern for his friends, he wished he'd not brought one of them along to make this easier. Sara broke a low branch off the side of a thin tree and sighed, stacking it across her arm with the others she held.

Bucky found it a little less easy to tear free branches so he mostly looked for one already on the ground. He couldn't help his sporadic glances at Sara, walking almost parallel to him a few yards to the right. She'd been oddly quiet, he noticed. It was very uncharacteristic of her. "Are you okay?" he asked, abruptly.

She glanced up at him from the ground, raising an eyebrow. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, before grabbing another branch. "You've just seemed like you're not yourself lately. Like, right now, you should be yelling at me for even caring. But you're not. It's a little odd."

"I've just got a lot on my mind," she answered, dampening down the smile threatening to bubble up at his use of sarcasm.

Bucky nodded as he moved his eyes elsewhere, resuming his focus to his task. He could only remain quiet for a short moment. Then he asked, his curiosity eating at him to much not to, "Like what?"

Sara's head lifted, giving him a look he was familiar with, one that told him he knew better than to expect an answer to that question. Even though she gave him a silencing expression, she exhaled a foggy breath, averting her eyes to the trees beside her. "I'm not sure there will be much left of me when this war's over," she admitted. "The town destroyed by Hydra we found yesterday? I grew up there."

Bucky all but stopped his pace, eyes instantly on her across the yards between them. "Sara...why didn't you say anything?" he questioned, empathetically.

"Steve knew. I didn't think I needed to announce it to everyone else," she replied.

"You could've told me," Bucky pointed out, sending out an offering of safe haven for her secrets, for whatever was on her mind. "We might be at war right now, but I'm still here, you know."

Sara's lips formed a closed, small smile as she crossed the spaced between them to meet him in his path. "That's very sweet of you," she said, lightly teasing, as she came to stand just beside him, causing him to stop walking.

He tilted his head in an expression, turning to face her. "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?"

"I know," she nodded a little, her eyes scanning his face for the lie, the lie that's always there, the thing that let her know not to trust a man's words. She wasn't used to not being able to find one, and the seriousness behind his eyes told her this was one of those rare times. "And I'd do anything for you."

There a tug in her gut then, pushing her to say more, to say what she wanted to say before the moment passed. And, for a moment, she battled with indecisiveness. But, in the end, she spoke up. "You may not need to hear it, but...I need to know that I said it," she said, before taking a deep breath. "If anything happens...I'm proud of you. I'm- I'm proud of us."

He took a step forward to better face her, moving his hands to hold her cheeks so she wouldn't look away as his eyes shifted to hers. "I need to say something, too. I love you, Sara Riley. I know you don't really do that sort of thing, but-"

"I love you, too," she blurted, in a sudden spurt of confidence, though her hands shook where they gripped the front of his coat. Bucky was taken aback by her words, unexpecting of any outward reciprocation of his feelings whatsoever. "James Buchanan Barnes...I am in love with you."

It was almost perplexing to her, how she could say such words. But she decided she'd rather die tomorrow knowing she'd said all of the things in her head to the people of whom it concerned than to keep it all in and lose someone else, leaving her with a mound of unfinished words.

Regret was a bold and underlined word on her list of things never to have. It seemed to her she might not get the chance to say this ever again, so she let her adrenaline carry her confidence a moment longer. "Tell me we will be together when this is all over," she said, her uncertain tone dropped to a hushed octave.

"We'll be together when this is over," he repeated, certain. Then, with a sly smile, he added, "You're not getting out of it that easily. As soon as we get home, I'm buying you a ring, and you'll be stuck with me forever."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she tilted her head, returning the smile.

"Just don't lose hope now, okay? Who knows, maybe tomorrow...we get Zola...and it's all over?" he said, all joking aside.

Sara nodded, though her doubt was only gaining momentum toward her throat, making it hard to swallow. It was an unusual sight, seeing it in her eyes, but Bucky didn't hesitate to pull her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

On any other day, he'd have been taking his life in his own hands. But right then, in her moment of weakness, human contact was something she needed. She needed to feel safe and secure and being in his arms, though it be only for a short moment, was the reassurance she needed to make it back to camp.

* * *

At daybreak, the Commandos continued on to the ridge. It was a spot just above the train tracks running right through the mountain. They made it there by mid day. Falsworth knelt by the edge on the far side of the drop off and used his binoculars to scout ahead.

Dugan, Jones, and the others set up their radio to check for communications. Steve walked to the edge, peering over at the bottom. "How far do you think that is?" he asked, to no one in particular.

"Gotta be at least fifty feet," Bucky said, joining his side.

Sara, overhearing the question, asked Dugan for his flashlight. Reluctantly, the man handed it over. Sara moved over to stand on the opposite side of Steve as Bucky. "How heavy would you say this is?" she questioned, holding it up for them to see.

"Um...a pound, maybe? Or less?" Bucky squinted, thinking. "I'm not sure."

Steve looked to Sara, raising an eyebrow, "What are you-" She tossed the flashlight over the edge, causing his voice to stop mid sentence as his eyes followed it down the side of the cliff.

Bucky huffed an airy chuckle. "Well, that's one way to do it."

Sara's eyes were focused on the flashlight as it twirled its way down into the snowy pit below, calculating the weight of the object and how many seconds it took to fall into the cloud-like snow. She was able to get a rough estimate as she added it up in her head.

She shrugged. "About one hundred feet, give or take a few yards."

"Only a hundred, huh?" Steve sighed.

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?" Bucky asked, looking toward the train tracks.

Steve nodded a little. "Yeah...and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback is it?" Bucky asked, dreadfully.

"Now why would I do that?" Steve grinned. Sara smiled a little, kneeling to pull her quiver off her back. She figured it was now or never if she wanted to make sure her arrows were all in proper firing condition.

"Looks like we were right," Jones said. "Dr. Zola's on the train. Hydra dispatcher gave them permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad." Steve nodded once and pulled on his helmet, securing it to his head. Bucky, Dernier, and Morita grabbed the handholds for the zip line and brought them nearer to the edge.

Falsworth was then able to spot the train barreling toward them on the tracks. "Let's get going, because they're moving like the devil," he said, lowering his binoculars.

Sara stood, strapping her arrows to her back. "We've only got a ten second window, boys," she said, moving to stand beside Steve, who was getting ready to go first on the line. "We miss it and we're bugs on a windshield."

"Mind the gap," Falsworth said.

"Better get moving, bugs!" Dugan said.

Sara twisted to see behind her. More specifically, to find Bucky. He was watching the train roll toward them with a completely unamused expression. "Afraid of heights?" she smiled teasingly.

"More like, afraid of landing on a train going hundreds of miles an hour," he replied, trying to sound sarcastic- and failing.

Sara reached back a hand and found his, holding onto it firmly. "Just don't look down."

"You're gonna need this," Dugan said, shoving a hand hold in her direction. It was forced into her hands, and her eyes narrowed at him halfway. "Unless, of course, if you wanna die."

She rolled her eyes and turned to face Steve's back. Dernier held his hand ready, being the designated signaler. When the train was at the proper distance, he signaled, and Rogers leapt forward off the edge of the cliff. He slid long the line a short distance before Dernier signaled again, and Sara followed Steve's suit, coupling her hand hold to the line and jumping off the edge.

It was breezy and fast. Each Commando hopping off to slide along the line for the train as Dernier signaled. Steve landed, shortly followed by Sara. It was fast moving ground. She stumbled slightly, gripping at the front of the car she landed on, and steadied herself after a moment. Bucky landed a few short yards behind her a second later.

Jones landed feet behind him and the three followed Steve along the cars toward the front of the train. Steve used the first available ladder on the side of the train to climb down, open a door, and slid into the car.

Sara crouched at the top of the ladder. She wanted to make sure the two unenhanced soldiers could stand atop the train well enough before she climbed down. Bucky crouched beside her at the top of the ladder and gave her shoulder a squeeze. A signal to keep going, that he was fine.

Sara nodded once and gripped the ladder's bars, swinging herself off the side of the train. Using her wrists, she turned her trajectory to land inside the car beside Steve. Once Bucky was in, he slid the door closed, cancelling out the noise from the wind.

Steve rounded the partition in the center of the car, taking slow steps along the far left wall. Sara pulled an arrow from her quiver and loaded it into her bow, following along the right side with Bucky at her back, ready with his rifle.

The three made their way to the other end, to the arched doorway leading into the next car. Steve was surprised to see no guards. He looked over his shoulder, then back to the next car. Despite his uncertainty, he continued on.

Bucky hung back, watching their backside for any incoming agents. Sara was a little slower to follow. Her foot was almost sliced off as the door rocketed closed between the cars, trapping Steve in one and Bucky and Sara in the other.

Steve whirled in panic and rushed to the door, banging once on the window. Sara felt for a handle of some kind but did not find one. She shook her head. Then gunshots echoed through the car behind her. Hydra agents with rifles were firing at Sara and Bucky from behind. Bucky immediately began firing back, sidestepping behind a small stack of crates at his left for cover.

Sara dove right, just barely missing two bullets to the shoulder. One skinned her upper arm and she hissed at the paper-cut like burning sensation in the skin. She drew back arrow after arrow, firing when she could amongst the barrage of bullets sprayed at her.

The agents kept shooting as she withdrew behind her shelter. She looked across the aisle way at Bucky, hunkered behind his line of crates. He looked right, his eyes locking onto hers. "Switch!" she called. She loaded her bow and dove forward, swapping places with Bucky as he darted around her.

Now on opposite sides, they continued firing at the agents. "I'm out!" Bucky hollered, his voice echoing across the hall. Sara instinctively grabbed the pistol off her back and threw it in his direction. He just barely caught it, just in time to fire at an agent firing right back at him.

Sara glanced back at the closed door as the sound of it sliding open caught her attention. Steve used the right side of the doorframe for cover as he looked to her, giving a small gesture of his shield. She nodded, seeing his plan, and he ran forward.

Steve slammed his shoulder into a missile crate on the partitioning shelf in the middle of the car, pushing it forward and off the other end. The agent was forced to dive back into the right side of the hall. Sara took the split second opportunity to stand, drawing her bow, and send an arrow through the agent's chest. The agent dropped backward to the floor, causing a loud thud as he did.

Sara exhaled and Bucky sighed as he came out from behind his cover. "I wanted to be the one to do it," he said, in dry attempt at humor.

A sudden electronic hissing sound caused Steve to whirl around, just in time to see the large robot looking machine attached to an agent he fought coming back with a vengeance, aiming his large gun at the three of them.

"Get down!" Steve gave Sara a hard shove. She slammed into Bucky, then causing the two to hit the wall, and then tumble to the floor in a mess of limbs from the force.

The shot hit Steve's shield and ricocheted off toward the right. It blew a large hole right in the side of the train car, blasting the metal almost clean off. It hung from the side of the car as the noise from the wind whirling outside filled the inner hall.

A voice echoed out over a speaker. Dr. Zola, they knew. "Fire again!" he shouted. "Kill him, now!"

Bucky gave Sara a light shove, pushing her off him to roll to the side. He grabbed Steve's shield and stood, firing his gun at the agent. It shot again at the shield. The force from the hit knocked Bucky back many feet, sending him right through the hole in the train and Steve's shield clattering to the ground.

Steve lurched to his feet in a rush of adrenaline and grabbed his shield, then sent it into the agent with a hard enough force to knock the man out. Sara eased her weight into her right side as she lay on her stomach against the floor. Her hand felt against her left side, feeling wetness and heat around the edges of a sharp bar of metal lodged in her flesh. She hadn't realized just exactly what had happened. Not until she finally looked up.

Steve was half dangling out of the hole in the train, reaching out to Bucky. Bucky was just barely hanging onto a hand hold in the piece of wall still attached to the side of the train. An emptiness hit Sara's chest, a stinging coming to her eyes as her heart shot into her throat.

"Bucky!" Steve called out to his friend, climbing further outside the train. "Hang on! Grab my hand!"

Bucky adjusted his grip on the bar to move a little closer. He reached out, but the bar was creaking, the metal shrieking as it pulled away from the wall. His eyes shifted to his right, to the insides of the train, landing on Sara's. She pleaded with him then.

 _Please don't. Don't leave me, Bucky. Don't you dare_. But his response was a clenched jaw and a silent _I love you_ in his eyes. Then the bar broke, and Bucky dropped from the side of the train.


	10. Chapter Nine: Play The Game

PRESENT

Sara sighed through her nose, readjusting her position in the passenger seat, dropping her right temple against her knuckles by the window. "Where does Captain America learn to steal a car?" Natasha asked, from where she sat in the back seat.

"Nazi Germany," Steve replied, one hand rested on the steering wheel. "And we're borrowing."

"Technically he learned how to 'borrow' things from me," Sara piped up. Her head remained on her fist, her eyes unmoving, but her ears were acutely attached to the conversation at hand.

Natasha was intrigued by this, sitting forward to see between the front seats. "Why weren't you given a code name? I mean, Sergeant Riley has a ring to it but it's not exactly making headlines," she said.

Sara sat up with an exhale. "Howard called me Blacksite. Never caught on, though."

"It didn't do you justice," Steve shook his head, then he glanced at Sara with a small smile. "You never did need any help doing your job."

"That's because they got the serum right the second time around," she quipped, the ends of her lips curving up.

Steve huffed an airy chuckle and moved his eyes back to the road. "Yeah, keeping telling yourself that."

"You want proof? Pull over, I'll bench press the truck," Sara offered, sarcastic, playful. No one in the vehicle would ever really need Sara's strength proven except for Natasha, but Romanoff was perfectly comfortable taking her word for it.

Shaking his head, Steve glanced over again. "I know you will, that's why I'm not pulling over."

"Right, because we're 'borrowing' it." Sara nodded a little, her expression lighthearted, her lips a small smirk.

Natasha made a low whistle as she leaned back into her seat, rolling down her window an inch. "Keep this up and I might just have to roll from the car and walk," she commented, teasingly.

Steve's eyes moved to the road at her words, readjusting the position he held in the seat to lean more to the left, away from Sara. Sara noticed this, and her shoulders dropped as her eyes darted to her window. Something perplexing happened to her chest when he looked at her now. It was a tug, a pull of something too strong not to listen to it, too strong not to bend to its will.

Sara lifted her head to steal a glance, a quick one at that, but it was long enough. There were so many things she'd never noticed. The crinkle at the edge of his eyes, broadness in his shoulders, how he'd combed his hair to the same side for years until a week ago. Now it was all in the front, a ruffled mess- on a good day.

She'd never seen him through these glasses, and she wasn't so sure she liked it just yet. Taking in a deep breath, she resumed her previous position, leaning into her knuckles. "Most of Sara Riley's adventures are classified," Natasha began, from the back. "How did you survive the crash?"

"I didn't. I wasn't there," Sara answered, tiredly.

"Okay, now I'm just confused."

Sara sighed heavily as she sat upright again, twisting to see between the seats. "I wasn't there because I was already on ice," she explained. "My freezing was a little more voluntary."

Natasha was quiet for a short moment, mulling it over as she looked through the window at the passing scenery, and it gave Sara a moment to relax. But then Romanoff opened her mouth and Sara quietly groaned. "How'd you do it?" Natasha asked, almost stoic in her curiosity.

Steve inhaled, "Nat, that's enough."

"I told Howard Stark to kill me," Sara spoke despite Steve's warning to the agent in the back seat. Steve had to force himself to take sporadic glances instead of stare out of shock. This was the first he was hearing of this story. "He wouldn't, so I told him to get me the next best thing."

A thick silence settled into the cab of the truck. Sara kept her eyes foreword. There was no hesitation to her voice, no quivering, no tremble. She was confident in her retelling of the events of nineteen forty-five.

There was nothing she felt ashamed of. To someone unfamiliar with her attitude, how her minds works, this seemed to be true. But Steve knew it was an act. All other times she'd spoken about their time during the war were littered with shaking voices and wet cheeks. This confidence was uncharacteristic.

It didn't take too long to arrive at their destination. Camp Lehigh. Steve cut the engine to the truck and the three climbed out. "This is it," Steve said, as they approached the closed front gate. Sara remembered hearing of this camp. She'd been fast-tracked to England for the program, so Sara hadn't gotten the pleasure of going through boot camp.

"The file came from these coordinates," Natasha shrugged, stepping up beside Sara.

"So did I," Steve replied, eyes fixed on the 'keep out' sign. Sara stepped up to the gate, fingering the rusted lock connected to the chain link. She slid her hand down into her right boot and unearthed her knife. With a hard slam of the knife handle, the lock broke off the fence. She folded down the blade and slid the knife back inside her boot, straightening before yanking open the rolling fence on its wheel, wasting no time on reflection.

"That's one way to do it," Natasha smirked, then she walked inside the camp past Sara.

Sara didn't dare chance a glance at Steve before travelling in after the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Steve was somewhat slow to follow, too caught up in his memories to walk as fast as the women ahead of him, but they weren't bothered.

Natasha used her device to check for any kind of signals from the area as she and Sara strode along beside an old brick building. "This is a dead end," she said, lowering her device. "Zero heat signatures, zero waves. Not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off."

Sara sighed and looked to Steve. Something had caught his eye, it seemed, as he stared at something just past them with a perplexed look. "What is it?" Sara asked, hopping off the raised walkway she'd stood on, hurtling herself over the railing.

"There," he pointed a finger. "That building. See it?"

She turned around, shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and rose on her toes an inch. She did in fact see it, and it was just as perplexing to her as it was to him. "What?" Natasha asked, completely lost. Steve didn't answer, just started walking.

Natasha then looked to Sara for answers, who responded while following after the Captain. "Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within fifty yards of the barracks," Sara explained, as Natasha hurried to follow along behind. "This building is in the wrong place."

Steve used his shield to break the lock and open the door, then they were traveling down a short staircase and Natasha turned the light switch. Well, it was more a dial than anything else, but its turning triggering the many lights along the ceiling, flickering on one bulb at a time.

Once light flooded the room, Sara's eyes landed on the large S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on the back wall. "This is S.H.I.E.L.D.?" she asked, an eyebrows arching on her forehead.

"Maybe where it started," Steve replied, taking slow steps deeper into the room. Desks covered in a thin layer of dust filled the area with one singular hall right down the middle. Natasha followed closely behind, but Sara a little more reluctant.

The so-called vintage look to it all was her version of modern. It took her back to nineteen forty-four. Steve and Natasha entered a room near the back, pushing through an open creaky door. She would've stayed put longer, but her anxiety about being left behind overruled her reluctance to enter.

Sara hurried down the aisle of desks and into the room at the end. Steve turned to see her as she entered, wishing he'd opened his mouth to stop her sooner, but her feet halted their foreword motion as her eyes locked on three frames hanging from the wall.

On the right was Agent Carter. A nice looking, sepia portrait. On the left was Colonel Phillips. But in the middle hung a broken and crooked framed photo of Howard Stark. Steve's shoulders dropped, eyes becoming downcast upon seeing her reaction.

Her features had instantly gone cold. First completely blank, but then slowly crept in the sadness, then the emptiness, the regret. It was all visible on her face. Natasha's eyes flickered between Sara and the wall a moment before stepping away.

"Let's keep moving, shall we?" she suggested, moving to walk down an aisle of empty shelves to the left of the photo display.

With a hard swallow, forcing down the lump growing in her throat, Sara follow Natasha to the left. She wanted to stay longer, wanted to look more. But she knew she would only end up crying if she did. This was not the place to be breaking down sobbing.

Steve watched her walk away. There was something odd about her. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He tried to focus on the reason they were at Camp Lehigh, keep his thoughts in check, continue on with the mission. It proved to be difficult as he followed after the women. His eyes kept finding themselves wandering to the left, glancing through the empty shelves at Sara.

A sudden breeze halted him almost instantly, the draft catching him off guard. His attention was pulled to the right, to the empty shelves beside him. More specifically, the gap between them. Air flowed through it rapidly. It came to him then, the reasoning behind this breeze.

"If you're already working in a secret office," Steve began, slipping his hands between the shelves, inside the small gap, prying them apart further as he did. Sara hurried around the opposite shelving to join Natasha directly behind him. "Why do you need to hide the elevator?"

Just as Steve finished his comment, the shelves were apart fully, revealing a shiny silver elevator. "Well, that was unexpected," Natasha commented, lightly sarcastic. "What are we waiting for? Let's see where it goes."

She slid past the super soldiers and wasted no time in scanning the keypad with her S.H.I.E.L.D. device, highlighting the pin code, then pressing the right keys to open the door. Sara took a step foreword to pass Steve, but he held out a hand to stop her, and her eyebrows lowered in curiosity.

Sara stepped back an inch. "What?" she asked, perplexed.

"You know exactly what," he gave her a knowing look, lowering his voice so Romanoff wouldn't overhear his next words. "What's going on with you? You've been acting differently since the mall."

"Hm, I wonder why? Maybe it's because we kissed? I don't know how to act around you now," she replied, hushing her voice as well in her honesty.

Steve's features relaxed from their accusatory position upon hearing her words. He honestly hadn't thought of that outcome. Being in the ice for seventy years didn't improve his ability to read women, he supposed. But at least she was honest about his misconception.

"Hey, guys?" Natasha interrupted, standing in the doorway to the elevator. "We don't have all night."

Steve sighed heavily at the interruption. Sara gave a toss of her eyes and began to move, but he quickly stopped her again, making eye contact with her. "We'll talk about this later, okay?" he said, certain.

She nodded a little, "Sure." With that, she continued on to the elevator.

Once the three were all inside, however tense it may feel, Natasha pressed the only available button and the elevator car began to descend rather quickly. It didn't take too long to reach the bottom. Sara couldn't help noticing the newness of it. It didn't match the rest of the building's appearance. This looked to have been installed within the last decade or so at least.

When the doors opened, it revealed a wide room. Taking steps into the room showed just how wide. But it was filled with computer servers, a computer set up on a half circle just a few yards inside the room with multiple monitors. All of it looked as old as the super soldiers. Slowly, lights overhead turned on as they approached the half circle of monitors. Steve and Natasha took lead in walking up the two steps into the circle.

Sara stayed just a step before the stairs. She was too hesitant to get closer. "This is it?" she asked.

"This can't be the data point. This technology is ancient," Natasha replied, looking around at the vast array of old computer servers. But then her eyes caught on something strange, a modern USB port set up on the desk by one of the monitors before them. She took a step foreword, and plugged the drive Fury gave to Steve into one of the available ports. Everything came alive. More lights on the servers clicked on as them hummed to life, coming on in waves across the room.

A computerized voice spoke why the words typed out across the screen of the main monitor in front of the three. "Initiate system?" it asked.

Sara glanced around once more before settling her eyes on Steve and Natasha. "Why do I get the feeling this is a bad idea?" she asked, to no one in particular. Then, shrugging to herself, she answered her own question, muttering quietly, "Probably because it is."

"Y-E-S, spells yes," Natasha hummed, as she typed in the letters. The computer recognized it and started to buzz a little louder. She smirked at the blank screen. "Shall we play a game?"

"Did you seriously just quote Tron?" Sara asked, rhetorically, finally brave enough to hop up the two steps to join them in front of the monitor.

Natasha glanced back at her as she stood upright. "Have you guys seen Star Wars yet?"

"Yeah, we saw it," Steve answered, with a light sigh.

"Gee, you people must have a lot of free time on your hands." Natasha smirked, before turning back to the screen.

The insinuative comment only elicited an eye roll from Sara, but it caused Steve's eyes to become downcast. He'd never really thought about, all of the moments things could've gone differently. A sleepless night, going out to dinner, runs at the monument, movie night. All of these things could've been romantic. And, maybe they were, just not at the time.

Thin green lines began to appear across the large monitor, phasing into ever more line to create a hazy and distorted image. "Rogers, Steven," a voice from the computer spoke. "Born nineteen-eighteen. Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna, born nineteen eighty-four. Davidovsky, Sara Marie, born nineteen-twenty."

"It's some kind of recording," Natasha said, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I am not a recording, _Fraulein_. I may not be the man I was when the Captain took me prisoner in nineteen forty-five, but I am." A photo on one of the smaller screens showed Dr. Zola, Johann Schmidt's right hand scientist.

"You know this thing?" Natasha asked. Sara's stomach was turning sour at the sight of him.

Steve stepped off the side of the half circle as he replied, "Arnim Zola was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull. He's been dead for years."

The computer was quick to correct him, "First correction, I am Swiss. Second, look around you. I have never been more alive. In nineteen seventy-two, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however... _that_ was worth saving, on two hundred-thousand feet of databanks. You are standing in my brain."

Steve returned from his walk around the backside of the computer just then. He stepped up beside Sara, opposite Romanoff. His close proximity to her side was protective, Sara noticed, but she kept her eyes on the screen to ignore it.

"How did you get here?" Steve asked the computer.

"Invited," it replied.

"It was Operation Paper Clip after World War II. S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited German scientists with strategic value," Natasha explained.

The computer added, "They thought I could help their cause. I also helped my own."

"Hydra died with the Red Skull," Steve said.

"Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," the computer said, morphing to flash a hydra symbol on its screen.

Sara's fingers were balling into fists at her sides. Her voice was full of anger and bitterness and spite when she finally spoke, only two words, " _Prove it_."

"Accessing archive," the computer responded, as hollow clicking sounds came from it. "Hydra was founded on belief that humanity could not be trusted with it's own freedom."

The screen to the left of the main monitor played nineteen forties footage of various Hydra activities, including Johann Schmidt, The Red Skull. "What we did not realize was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist," the computer continued. "The war taught us much. Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly."

Sara felt sick. She shuffled a step back, looking away from the monitor, swallowing hard to eradicate the hard lump forming in her throat.

"After the war, S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded. and I was recruited. The new Hydra grew. A beautiful parasite inside S.H.I.E.L.D. For seventy years, Hydra has been secretly feeding crisis, reaping war and when history did not cooperate-" Sara's eyes moved up at that, landing directly on a red star flashing onto the screen. "-history was changed."

"That's impossible, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have stopped you," Natasha said, appalled.

"Accidents will happen," the screen slid in a picture of a news paper article about Howard and Maria Stark's car accident, then a picture of Nick Fury with a deceased stamp across the front. "Hydra created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once a purification process is complete, Hydra's new world order will arise. We won, Captain. You death amounts to the same as your life. A zero sum."

Filled with rage, Steve thrusted his fist into the monitor screen, shattered it in. The computer whirred a moment, but Zola reappeared on the screen to the right. "As I was saying..." he said.

"What's on this drive?" Steve demanded.

"Project Insight requires...insight. So I wrote an algorithm."

Natasha pushed up beside Steve near the screen, "What kind of algorithm? What does it do?"

"The answer to your question is fascinating. Unfortunately, you will be too dead to hear it," the computer replied.

Large metal doors began to roll closed over the elevator. Steve turned and, in a second, hurtled his shield at them. The shield bounced off, too late to do any good, and flung right back at him. It hit a side post before landing in his hands.

Just then, Natasha's device began to beep. She unearthed it from her pocket and grimly read the screen aloud. "We got a bogey. Short range ballistic," she said. "Thirty seconds- tops."

"Who fired it?" Sara asked.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," Natasha answered.

"I am afraid I have been stalling," the computer said. "Admit it, it's better this way. We are, all of us, out of time."

Steve ran to one of the large grates in the floor and yanked it off. Sara grabbed Natasha's arm and pulled, practically dragging her foreword. The back wall exploded behind them as they ran, arriving near enough to Steve for him to grab Natasha and pull her in while Sara jumped the last short distance.

The three used Steve's shield as a cover from the building collapsing on top of them. Sara was on Steve's left, hunkered in as much as she could, while Natasha was on the right, covered mostly with the shield. Hunks and large bits of cement slammed down on top of the shield, and Steve groaned from the strain of holding it up.

Sara quickly wriggled to get her hands free, and pushed up from underneath the shield against the weight falling on top of it. It was a relief, but it was still tremendous. Cement slabs and pieces shredded down Sara's back.

There was no more room for her under the shield, so she gritted her teeth through the pain flaming up her spine and deep into her flesh, holding as still as possible. Heat seared her skin. A particularly heavy piece landed on her leg at an odd angle. The pain was incredibly intense. She felt like she had no choice but to cry out from it, though she stayed in her position as much as possible.

It took several minutes for the falling to stop. When it did, they were surrounded in complete darkness.


	11. Chapter Ten: Cold Hearted

PAST

"We can't get drunk," Sara stated, staring bleakly at the bottle in front of her. "What exactly is alcohol going to do?"

Steve took a long drink from his glass, setting it on the table before answering. "I don't know. Maybe it's more for the idea than anything else? It's not working, but I can't stop. Want some?"

"I'll pass," Sara shook her head.

"Suit yourself."

He poured himself another glass, setting the bottle down, before taking another drink. Sara couldn't bring herself to look at him. The ride home was hard enough. Keeping herself emotionally stable in front of the Commandos was hard enough.

Her bones, as young as they may be, felt ancient and incredibly hard to move, so she sat there across from Steve in the nearly destroyed pub. It was the pub they'd once been to, when all was well and they were happy.

Sara's eyes shifted up, sweeping to the right. The place where she'd felt her first kiss was now in crumbled ruins. The scenery looked about as broken as her heart felt, sitting in pieces inside her chest cavity. She'd never felt pain like this. "We were going to get married," she blurted, her voice small at the memory.

Steve's gaze moved to her face at her words. It wasn't something he hadn't heard before, and it puzzled him, even amidst his grief. "Buck never told me," he shook his head a little, perplexed.

"He was going to, as soon as..." Sara looked down, at her fingers fiddling in her lap. "As soon as we got back home again."

It was true they'd kept it a secret, even from Steve. The reason at the time was to focus on the task at hand, the war, and to not be distracted by things like that. Although it felt like they were already engaged. And maybe they were, just unofficially, and without a ring.

A dense silence filled into the space between them, leaving room for nothing else, nothing other than the siren not far off in the distance. There was a weight on her shoulders, as she continued to sit there, a pressure building between her eyes of a forming headache.

Sara was unaware of how much longer she would be able to sit still. She couldn't make it stop, couldn't make it go away, and she most definitely could not numb it. A wrist swiping at her face to nab the stray tear from her cheekbone, she exhaled heavily.

"I can't do this," she pushed up from the table, the chair shrieking along the dirty wooden floor abruptly. "I'm sorry."

Steve glanced up, perplexed by her words, but she was already passing him as he did. He twisted in his chair to watch her walk away. "Em?" he called after her, but she didn't respond. Her figure disappeared through the open hole in the wall, leaving the building.

Sara tried wiping off the water on her cheeks, but it wasn't working, considering they still poured out like rain as she continued on her path back to the base. A small sob escaped her, a hand quickly moving to cover her mouth.

Her ribs physically hurt with a sharp ache and her throat was completely dry. This was something unknown to her. She was deeply saddened leaving her parents to come to the states, but that was a different kind of sadness. This sadness, this density in her chest, was strong enough to almost bring her to her knees.

She'd been in shock on the train, after he fell. She pulled the metal from her side and pushed herself up into a sitting position, scooting until her back touched the wall. A strong wind whipped her hair, but she didn't bother pushing it away. All she saw before her eyes were the three seconds before Bucky was gone from her life forever. The three seconds before the love of her life was gone forever.

Those three seconds stayed with her as she walked, those seconds being the reason tears rained from her eyes and sobs ripped from her throat. Everything she never knew she'd wanted was in front of her, hanging by an almost literal thread. And something cut it.

Any normal person would blame whatever god they believed in, whatever god they thought caused it to happen, but even though Sara's faith wasn't at its strongest, she tried to overshadow the images in her mind with words.

 _האדון נותן והאדון לוקח_

 _The Lord gives and the Lord takes away_. It was a true statement and, though she could not find a reason behind his decision, she knew there was no reversing it either way. She knew she needed to find a way to live with it. It was something of a way of life, she knew it too well. But she wasn't sure if this was a decision she could live with.

Bucky wasn't something she'd wanted when he came into her life. But, now that he was gone, she knew he was the only thing she wanted. That's when it hit her, walking into the base with freshly dried cheeks. Her feet moved quickly, with a deadly certainly she'd never possessed until then. She was on a mission, crossing the base to Howard Stark's usual place of operations, keeping her eyes forward or down as not to draw attention.

Every eye that set upon her that day saw something highly unusual. Sara Riley had been crying. Anyone with eyes could make that deduction from the evidence given. The whites of her eyes were pink, her under eyes puffy and purple, with the edges of her eyes tinged red.

Stark didn't notice her when she walked in. He was writing something down quickly, mumbling something under his breath about it, deep in thought across the room. Sara made a straight line for him. "I need you to kill me," she said, as she came to stand in front of him.

The pencil he held clattered to the floor as his eyes instantly moved up to meet hers. His pad of paper lowered as his brow drew together, seeing her face truly for what it was. "You need me to what now?" he questioned, perplexed by the demand. "Em, what happened to you?"

"Howard, don't. I need you to kill me."

He snorted. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, you're practically in-killable."

"Find a way," Sara pressed, her inability to show any other emotion giving her demeanor an angry color. "I don't care what you have to do- just do it."

"Okay, okay- let's step back for a moment. I am not killing you. I won't now, and I won't ever," Howard shook his head adamantly.

Sara sighed heavily. "Then find something better! Howard, please, just...help me. I can't- I don't want this anymore- I just need it to stop! Just make it stop, Howard."

Tears were streaming her cheeks again, but she sucked in a breath, keeping herself unaffected by the change. Howard wanted nothing to do with her plan to end her life. But even so, he couldn't stop his mind from coming up with an alternative.

His features were sympathetic, sobered by her sudden emotional outburst. He swallowed hard. "I think I can help," he said, uncertain. "But, Em...once you do it, you can't decide to come back."

She quickly shook her head, wiping her palms across her cheek bones in a quick swipe, "I don't care."

"I have a cryo chamber," he admitted.

"What would that do?"

"It would freeze you in time- literally and figuratively. You would be sleeping, basically, but time would still be moving outside. You wouldn't be able to tell me to wake you up, either."

"Let's do it," Sara nodded. Howard was unmoving, his eyes scrutinizing her. She tilted her head in a slightly annoyed expression. "If you want me to sign a waver first, I'll do it."

"What about Rogers?" Howard asked, ruefully. "What do I tell him when he comes to me, asking where you are?"

Sara inhaled. "Tell him you don't know."

"You want me to _lie_?"

"I want you to tell him the truth. Mentally, I will be somewhere else. You won't know where I am anymore. My body is here, sure. But _I_ am not."

"You sound insane, Em," Howard sighed, before pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sara groaned, "Howard! Do you not understand? Did no one tell you what happened out there?"

"All I know is Barnes didn't make it back. I don't know anything else- when it comes to that," Howard answered.

"He fell out of a speeding train, Howard! I could save hundreds of my people by breaking through the side of a brick building, but I couldn't save the one person I loved from falling out of a train," Sara's shoulders dropped, her cheeks wet yet again.

Howard's eyes softened a fraction, his hands sliding into his pockets, her words sobering. He'd never heard her use that word to describe someone before, love. But now he understood. If Sara Riley was using that word, this was serious.

"Alright," he sighed, his shoulders dropping as well. "I'll help."

* * *

Howard exhaled, standing from beside the chamber. "It's ready whenever you are," he announced, unable to hide the displeasure in his tone.

Sara pulled the dog tags from around her neck over her head, held them in her palm. If ever she were to wake up, she knew she would want to have them, so she placed them on an empty space of table along the far wall.

She ambled over to where Howard stood beside the chamber. "Will it hurt?" she inquired, eyeing the machine beside Howard.

"No, it's relatively painless. You'll be too cold to feel anything."

"Good. I've felt enough pain."

"Em...are you absolutely sure you want this?" Howard questioned, turning his head to see her. "I cannot stress this enough- once you're in, you're in. There's no going back."

Sara looked to the machine. This seemed a little melodramatic, especially for her. But she needed the ache in her bones to subside. Death would've accomplished it just fine, though this would have to do. She nodded, "I want this."

Howard exhaled. "Alright then. Step inside."

Her eyes moved up to his, averted from hers at that moment. A bolt of something struck her then. Guilt, sympathy, possibly something else she couldn't quite distinguish. Her impulsivity pushed her forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Howard was completely unexpected of such a gesture, especially given her vow never to touch him. But he ever so slightly placed his arms around her middle, allowing himself to sink into it a bit, to cherish a part of her he'd never seen and would never see again.

It only lasted but a moment before she pulled away, moving to step into the tub-like chamber. Sara climbed in and sat down inside the metal hull. It was already full of ice and cold water. Her skin broke out in bumps instantly and she squirmed slightly at the sudden change in temperature.

"It's only going to get colder," Howard warned, crouching to reach the control panel at the end of the chamber. "Don't fight it. That'll make it worse. Just take a deep breath and relax."

Sara nodded a little, against the chattering of her teeth beginning. "O-okay-ay."

"Shalom aleicham, Sara," Howard exhaled, a certain bittersweet to his features.

"Aleicham shalom, Howard," Sara replied, her teeth calming a bit as her skin became used to its current temperature. Her eyes moved to meet his, and he gave a small nod of his head, letting her know it was okay to continue.

Sara inhaled as much air as her lungs could hold, fingers gripping at the sides of the chamber. Then, with a push, she slid down beneath the surface to lie against the cold metal at the bottom. It submerged her completely in water.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Hot Coals

PRESENT

Steve finally pushed over the large cement piece boxing them in, and he crawled out a foot or two, coughing and sputtering a moment.

Sara's right side leaned against the wall of cement behind them as she tried to get up. Her attempt failed miserably, as she fell back against the concrete on the harsh abrasions to her spine and shoulder blades. It elicited a sharp inhalation of breath. The pain was too strong for any other reaction.

"Em...you okay?" Steve panted, crawling back in.

Squeezing her eyelids shut, she nodded quickly. "Yeah. But Nat's out."

"Come on, we gotta get out of here." Steve grunted, hefting an unconscious Romanoff into his arms. He then crawled out of the small box they'd been trapped in.

Sara bit down on her lower lip and pushed herself up on shaking limbs. She fiercely gripped the cement hunks to pull her body up and out of the hole. Her back felt like it'd been set ablaze, with a million little pricks of a needle dancing across the skin in random patterns, slowly turning numb as she stumbled on.

Steve ducked down at the sight of three S.H.I.E.L.D. quinjets flying overhead. "This way," he said, passing Sara to dart the other way with Natasha in his arms. She groaned, but nodded, and followed after him.

They walked long into the night. Sara was able to sneak to the truck they 'borrowed' to gather her satchel, the one holding her bow, before they disappeared from the area completely. The goal was to walk back to Washington D.C. More specifically, to a familiar face Sara was ninety percent sure they could trust.

Natasha woke up and insisted she walk on her own after about an hour of their journey had passed. And she did, trying and failing to clean the ash from her face, walking opposite Steve from Sara.

Sara was slightly limping, taking it easy on her left leg. It'd been crushed by the heavy bricks of cement fall on them. Thanks to being a super soldier, it wasn't as bad as it should have been. But it wasn't healed quite yet, and it ached in a sharp pulsation.

Steve noticed her odd walk, causing his eyebrows to draw together. Then he saw it. The black on her shoulder, leading him to slow enough to move his eyes further across her back, following the lack of clothing to the puckered red flesh along her shoulders and spine.

"Em, stop," he suddenly said. She stopped with a heavy exhale, and he sidestepped closer to her, holding her shoulder to keep her still so he could survey the damage, only bringing her leg injury into focus as well. "You're hurt. Why didn't you say anything?"

Sara hissed with a wince as she straightened her back. "It wasn't important."

"Wasn't important? Now you're just being ridiculous." Steve moved quickly to shrug off his heavy jacket and help her into it, as though she were a small child in need of assistance, and picked her up with a mild huff.

Her back stung for a moment at the pressure against her shoulders that the arm around her back caused, but she dropped her head on his shoulder with an exhale, relieved to get the weight off her leg. "My hero," she breathed, mostly sarcastic.

"We need to keep moving," Natasha reminded, resuming her semi quick pace along the road.

The three of them, covered in ash and dirt for head to toe, walked up to Sam Wilson's back door. Natasha knocked, seeing as Steve's hands were busy. He'd stopped carrying Sara almost three hours ago, just before the sun came up. But his arms were still around her, keeping her against his side.

A moment after the knock and the curtains pulled away, then Sam pulled open the sliding glass door, his expression one of utter confusion at their appearances. "Hey, guys," he greeted.

"I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low," Steve apologized.

Sara lifted her head, "Everyone we know is trying to kill us, Sam."

Sam glanced between the three of them a moment before answering. "Not everyone," he said, stepping back to allow entrance. "Come in." Natasha entered first, followed by Sara with Steve close on her heels.

Wilson closed the door behind them, sure to the close the curtains before turning back around to face the three. "There's a bathroom in the guest room just down the hall you guys can use to clean up," he offered. Then, looking down at Sara's leg, he added, "And you might wanna ice that. It looks pretty purple."

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" Sara raised an eyebrow.

"Do I wanna know?" Sam countered, lightly.

She gave a small shake of her head, "Probably not."

"Come on, Em, let's get cleaned up." Steve put his arm back around her shoulders, gently leading her toward the hallway. She went along with him to the guest room direct to by Sam, too numb in her mind from the night's events to think any other way.

Once inside, Sara slowly peeled off Steve's jacket. It tugged at her damaged skin and she made audible winces as it came free, only quiet when it was finally off. Steve was frozen in his stance feet behind her, his eyes stuck on her skin. It was still puckered and red, dried blood smeared across in several spots.

Sara folded the jacket in half and draped it on the end of the bed. "I can feel you staring," she tossed the words over her shoulder, her voice weak and graveled from the pain.

"It looks worse than it is, right?" he said, more a statement than a question, lightheartedly mocking what he was sure she would say next. He took slow steps foreword and she turned halfway to meet his gaze as he came to stand in front of her.

She gave him a look with tired eyes. "You look terrible."

"Thanks, I needed that," he smiled closed-mouthed.

"Carter was right when she said you couldn't read women," Sara observed, eyes flitting down to the floor. She chuckled once, humorlessly, then looked back up to his face. "But I thought you knew me better than that."

He exhaled lightly, swallowing hard. "I do. But...Em, you're my best friend. You're all I have left. You're the only person I can really trust. I've never seen you as anything more. I mean, you were my best friend's girl. Why would I have?"

"How do you see me, now?" she questioned.

"My best friend," Steve answered, semi quietly. "Someone I'm not sure how to feel about."

Sara took in a slow breath. "I feel...different. It's like there's this weird little tingle inside me that doesn't belong there and I want to get it out. It feels wrong," she admitted. "But, if it's wrong, why do I want to kiss you again?"

His eyes searched hers for a quiet moment, trying to find something to tell him how to respond. But he didn't find it. Sara huffed a small, airy chuckle and turned away. She moved for the bathroom. Steve quickly grabbed her arm, stopping her, and she turned to face him.

"Wait," he said, almost unsure in tone of voice. Sara's eyebrow arched on her forehead expectantly, waiting for a reason to still stand there. He was extremely hesitant, but he saw that his chance to move was slim, and he only was given one. He took it.

Moving foreword, sliding his hand up her arm to come to a rest against her cheek, tipping his head down to allow their lips to meet in a hastened kiss, one much like the escalator incident. Though, this kiss lingered longer.

His other hand moved to grip her waist, tugging her a step foreword to face him completely, and her fingers gripped at the front of his jacket to keep her steady as they separated. His forehead rested gently against hers as their eyes remained unopened.

The emotions flooding their systems were too much to react just yet. The rush of it all left Sara breathing a bit heavily, trying to catch up to her heartbeat's fast pace, then slow it down. It wasn't working quite how she'd planned, despite her efforts.

There was a soft knock against the mostly closed door then, causing Steve to lift his head as a voice filtered through. "Hey, guys? I've got ice and some clean clothes," it was Sam. "If you're interested."

Regretfully, Steve let go of Sara completely to walk to the door. He pulled it open and Sam held up a pair of shirts. "I hope Sara doesn't mind men's clothing. It's all I've got," he apologized.

Steve shook his head, "No, that's perfect. Thank you."

"No problem." Sam gave Steve the shirts and a small ice pack, then disappeared down the length of the hallway to allow them to finish cleaning up. Steve closed the door and walked back to the bed.

Sara had disappeared, into the bathroom. She twisted sideways to get a better look at her back in the wide mirror above the sink. "Thank the stars this won't scar," she commented, loud enough for him to hear in the other room. "Being a super soldier has its perks, I guess."

"That needs cleaned, doesn't it?" Steve asked, rhetorically, as he stepped up to the small bathroom doorway.

"I can do it."

"I know."

Steve found a stack of rags in a cupboard under the sink, meanwhile Sara shimmied her arms from her burned-through shirt and jacket, holding her arms over her chest and the front fabric to keep anything important still hidden. It gave a better visibility of the extensive damage to the skin across her back.

"Just press the rag to the cuts, it doesn't have to be perfect," Sara instructed, twisting her neck to see Steve behind her.

Steve nodded once. "Tell me to stop if the pain's too much."

"Got it boss," she replied, lazily, letting her head droop foreword. Even though the rag had been soaked with warm water, it burned as it touched her, as though it'd been drenched with ice. Her muscles instinctively flinched away, a hand shooting out to grip the edge of the sink.

Steve paused, quickly removing the rag, but Sara shook her head. "It's fine," she assured, gritting her teeth. "Keep going."

"Are you sure-?"

"Yeah, just do it."

All she wanted was to get it over with. Steve was reluctant out of fear he'd do it wrong, end up hurting her even more somehow, as though she were a cracked China doll, as though one more touch could break her. That's how she looked.

Sara squeezed her eyelids closed as the rag touched her skin again. This time, she was prepared, and the muscle reflex wasn't as worse. She was able to exhale through it instead of reacting physically. It warded off any extra seconds spent reassuring Steve that it didn't hurt.

He knew it had to be painful, just from how the injury appeared. He knew she was braving it out. But he didn't say anything to contradict her minimal actions. A silence filled the small bathroom, taking up any extra space left.

Neither participants said much for the first few minutes. Finally, Sara spoke first. "He would've wanted it to be you," she said, quietly. Steve's eyebrow arched as he looked to the mirror, only to find her soft gaze already on him. "If there was anyone Bucky would have approved of me caring for after him...it would have been you."

Her voice was calm, soft, assuring. She could sense the apprehension in him during their kiss, and it wasn't hard to understand where it was coming from. His own words from the previous conversation explained it. _You were my best friend's girl_.

In many ways, she supposed, she still was his best friend's girl. At least, in his mind. His mental image of her was tainted by a friendship, a brother-sister way of looking at it. Steve looked down at the rag against her back. More along the lines of, _at anywhere but her face_.

"You're probably right," he replied, partially under his breath as he sighed.

It was quiet again between them. In the silence, Steve inwardly cursed himself for not saying more. For not handling the situation differently. He wasn't used to this, wasn't used to these conversations. Especially not with someone like Sara.

She was so independent, practically fearless, and honesty was something she held to a high standard. She was blunt and kept many secrets. Steve wasn't as brave when it came to his heart and what it wanted, but he knew he needed to say something before he lost her completely.

He inhaled a deep breath, loosing it slowly through his nose. "Let's just see where this goes. Let's not rush it. See what happens."

"Deal." The corners of her lips curved as her features softened. It was only then Steve noticed he'd finished cleaning her wounds minutes ago. He took a step back. "All done," he said.

Sara turned her back more toward the mirror to see. The outermost cuts and scrapes were healing nicely, but the majority of the center of it looked to have been put through the heart of a meat grinder. "That's great. Thank you," she exhaled, before looking up at Steve in front of her. "Mind if I take a shower?"

"What? Oh- no, yeah, go ahead. I'm just gonna...change my shirt and be out of here anyway," Steve replied, with an awkward stammer across the sentence, as he took slow steps back to exit the bathroom.

The corner of Sara's eyes crinkled as she gave a closed-mouthed smile, "Unless you wanted to still use the sink?"

Steve paused, eyes drifting left as a his mind sunk in a thought bubble, but it didn't last more than a second. He quickly shook his head, returning the awkwardly casual smile. "No, no- I'm alright," he declined, slowly, unsure.

"Okay, then." Sara nodded once, then pushed the door closed, turning the lock on the knob before undressing.

Steve let his shoulders drop along with his exhalation. He scrubbed his face with his hands. What was he doing? How could he agree to this? Finally, he was attempting to find a life in this new era, and yet his heart and his mind were not in agreement of the circumstances.

Shaking his head at himself and his lack of confidence with females, he tugged his dirt and sweat soaked shirt over his head. He pulled on one of the clean shirts Sam had given him earlier, leaving one behind on the bed, and left the room to find Natasha and Sam.

Sara eased herself under the spray of the showerhead. The water hit the front of her shoulder. Droplets of lukewarm slid down her shoulder blades, running along the cuts like the blade of a steel knife. The strong pain burning through her skin elicited a hollow gasp from her lungs. A hand clapped over her mouth as she took another step.

More water poured down her in a now steady stream two or more inches wide. She wanted to scream. It came out muffled, a small cry the only audibly thing, and she braced against the back of the shower with her palms flat on the tile.

Squeezing her eye closed, she took deep breaths to calm herself. It didn't stop the hot tears from rolling down the skin of her cheekbones. It felt like hot coals had been placed against her back. She'd never felt such pain. Just hold on, she told herself, it will stop soon.

She cleaned herself up as best as she could before, finally, she decided enough was enough and turned the water off. Her limbs felt numb as they jittered. She stepped out of the shower to a dense steam throughout the bathroom.

Sara wrapped a towel around herself and pulled open the bathroom door. The bedroom appeared to be empty as she made her way to the bed with her pants and underwear, the only parts of her previous outfit still wearable.

"You gotta go for it, man," Sam insisted, causing Steve to sigh with a small smile from the kitchen table. "I'm telling you. If you don't, someone else will."

"Who? You?" Steve asked, light-heartedly.

Sam paused, thinking. "I don't know...think she's out of my league?"

"So far out you couldn't see her with a telescope," Natasha replied, stoically sarcastic as she entered the kitchen from the hall. "By the way, you boys might want to quiet down if you don't want you-know-who to listen in."

"We were just finishing," Steve assured, eyes moving down to the table in front of him. Sam hummed in sarcastic disbelief, spreading butter on his toast.

Natasha took a seat at the table with a light exhale. "She's got ears like a bat," she commented, gingerly sipping on a cup of coffee.

Steve cocked an eyebrow. "And you don't?"

"I'm just saying," Natasha smirked, shrugging lightly.

"You usually are," Sara commented, as she sighed, walking into the kitchen from the hall. The grey t-shirt of Sam's she wore was tight against her shoulders, but baggy around the waist, where it was tucked into the hem of her dark jeans. "Do you have coffee?"

Sam nodded, with a light smile. He gestured to the pot on the counter adjacent to where he was buttering his toast. "Help yourself," he replied. Sara exhaled with relief and found herself a mug. As she poured, Sam asked, "How's your leg?"

"Better, thanks," she answered, as she shimmied the pot back into the machine.

"If you need it, I've got ibuprofen," he offered. He stuffed an end of his toast in his mouth as he turned to see her response. She leaned her butt back into the counter as she took a sip of her coffee, then she shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I'm good," she declined, lightly.

Natasha smirked at her from across the room. "Yeah, you'll be healed in no time."

"Say what?" Sam's eyebrows drew together as he spoke around a mouthful of toast. He looked perplexed by the statement as he glanced between the two women. Natasha still smirking, Sara glaring right back.

Steve sighed heavily. "She's like me," he explained, seeing as the girls weren't going to. "She's a super soldier."

The movement of Sam's jaw slowed as he stared at Steve a moment, the information hitting him one second at a time. Then, finally, his head snapped right as he quickly looked to Sara. Natasha snickered under her breath as she turned back to her coffee.

Sara sighed as Sam's expression contorted to pure confusion. "Okay...hold up," he said, turning to be able to see both parties at once. "You're saying _she_ -" he pointed a finger at Sara. "-a twenty year old girl, got picked up by the government and turned into a female Captain America?" His voice sounded like a shriek.

"I'm twenty-five," Sara corrected, just above monotone.

Natasha put down her mug, "Just put him out of his misery, Sara."

"Sergeant Sara Marie Riley, born nineteen-twenty, enlisted nineteen thirty-eight for the Super Soldier Program by recommendation of Howard Stark," Sara recited, tiredly. "First female super soldier and member of the Howling Commandoes. Pronounced missing in action in nineteen forty-five after the death of Sergeant James Barnes. Recovered two-thousand twelve."

Sam stared at her a moment. Then, a bit sarcastically, he said, "Oh, is that all?"

"That's the part of my S.H.I.E.L.D. file that isn't redacted so...yeah," she replied, with a small nod. She continued to sip her coffee, and Sam shook his head with a sigh.

"Wow, okay...that's a lot to process. Why aren't you in the museum?"

Sara shrugged. "I was classified."


	13. Chapter Twelve: Better With A Gun

PRESENT

"So, the question is," Natasha began, leaning her lower back into the counter beside the kitchen table. "Who at S.H.I.E.L.D. could launch a domestic missile strike?"

"Pierce," Steve answered.

"Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world," Natasha sighed.

"Well, he's not working alone. Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star," Steve reminded.

Sara made no outward reaction to her realization, to piecing the puzzle together. Simply spoke in a neutral tone while clutching her coffee in both hands, her elbows rested on the table in front of her where she sat to Steve's left. "So was Jasper Sitwell," she said.

"So, the _real_ question is, how do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a S.H.I.E.L.D. officer in broad daylight?" Steve exhaled, looking down.

Sam stepped around the counter, heading for the table. "The answer is, you don't," he said, before slapping a file onto the table. Sara instantly put down her mug, sitting foreword in her chair to peer into it, taking the photo off the top of the manila.

"What's this?" Steve asked.

"Call it a resume," Sam replied.

"You were on the Khalid Khandil mission?" Sara inquired, only her eyes moving up to see Sam. "You didn't say you were a pararescue."

"I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of RPGs," Natasha said. "What did you use? A stealth chute?"

"No," Sam shook his head. He stepped forward and held up the file he'd previously put on the table. "These."

Steve took the folder and opened it. He only eyed it for a minute before looking up again. "I thought you said you were a pilot?" he said, rhetorically.

Sam smiled. "I never said pilot."

Sara leaned into Steve's left arm to see inside the folder, her curiosity peaked. "I can't ask you to do this, Sam," Steve shook his head. "You got out for a good reason."

"Dude, Captain America needs my help. There's no better reason to get back in," Sam disagreed, adamantly.

Sara sat back, looking up to Sam. "Where do we get one?"

"The last one is at Fort Meade," Sam answered. "Behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall."

Steve looked to Natasha, who only shrugged it off. Then he looked to Sara and she gave him about the same the response. So he looked back to Sam as he tossed the file onto the table. "Shouldn't be a problem," he said.

"One condition," Sara said, looking only at Sam. It drew everyone's attentions, making all in the room silent as they awaited her next words. "You teach me how to use it."

A wide smile broke out across Sam's face, and he nodded, "I think we can make that work."

"Looks like we're going to Fort Meade," Natasha said, pushing off the counter.

"You guys are. I need to get my gear. Mind going it without me?" Sara asked, sitting up in her chair. Her question was mostly directed at Steve. She'd turned slightly to the right, moved her eyes in his direction. "Where's your gear?" Sam asked, curiously.

"His apartment," Sara nudged a thumb in Steve's direction.

Steve gave Sara a look, "Our apartment. And are you sure it's even safe to go back? S.H.I.E.L.D. will be watching the place, waiting for us."

"Thank you for the concern," Sara began, standing up from her chair. She stepped around the table as she continued, "But I can handle Rumlow. He's a lousy shot, and his right cross could use some work."

Natasha cocked an eyebrow, "That's oddly specific."

Sara gave a toss of her eyes as she pattered for the hallway, leaving that as her only response. She set her now empty mug on the kitchen counter and went to the guest room where she'd left her satchel. If she was going to defend herself, it was imperative that she have her weapons.

Sure, Sara had no problem defending herself without them when needed, but it was a comfort to have her bow. Even though it wasn't the original, Barton assured her it was as close as they'd get with the updates to the framework.

He'd pulled it out of storage the second he heard she'd returned, supposedly. At least, that's what he'd told her, when they met a week after she was reunited with Steve. That he figured if she was getting back in the game, she needed a better bow.

 _"Take it from someone who knows," he'd said. "If you're gonna shoot, it helps to have the right weapon, kid."_

 _"Kid?" Sara had replied, wrinkling her nose with a raised brow. "You know I'm ninety-five, right?"_

It wasn't a long exchange. But now she had her fold-out bow and hidden quiver strapped to her back at all times. Call her paranoid, but at least she was always prepared. She pulled the satchel onto her shoulder and returned the quiver to her back.

It was a bit hard to adjust under her men's t-shirt, but she managed. Then she returned to the living room to find the other three in the house ready to leave on their own journey. Sam eyed her a moment, raising an eyebrow as she entered the room. "Don't you have some kind of...I don't know...something?" he questioned. "Cap's got a shield, but you're going in practically naked."

Sara stuck her hand in her satchel and unearthed the black, foot long piece of weaponry inside. He looked skeptical. Then, with a flick of her wrist, it expanded into a full size bow. She held it up a moment in a 'see?' gesture.

After she'd folded it away, Sam nodded. "Okay...I stand corrected," he resigned, a bit sarcastically. "Well, uh...good luck."

Sara's lips pressed together in a thin line, curving up at the edges. "Same to you."

She started for the back door. It would be smart not to use the front. Odds were, Hydra had eyes literally everywhere. As she arrived not two steps from it, she was halted by her name voiced from Steve, causing her to turn around.

Steve stepped over to her from around the other side of the table. Sara's eyebrow rose expectantly, awaiting his impending goodbye. He didn't feel his bravest. Not anywhere near it, if he was being completely honest.

Putting all his insecurities aside, he knew he ought to take Sam's advice. Cupping her cheeks with his hands, he tipped his head down, pulling in Sara enough to engulf her lips with his in a soft kiss. It was reciprocated after a split second of stunned pause.

Sara didn't expect that outcome. She didn't think seeing where their relationship went meant kissing in front of their friends. Though she'd secretly hoped it would be more than a goodbye hug, given it was dangerous either way the pair was going.

It lasted for only a moment but, when it ended, their foreheads touched, noses barely brushing, and suddenly it didn't feel so odd. It felt soft and comforting and warm, full of longing and a million unspoken words. "Be careful," he said, in a hushed voice. "Watch your back."

The corners of her lips curved up as her eyes shifted to his in the close proximity, "I could say the same to you, Captain."

"We'll meet back here, okay?" he replied, chuckling softly at her words.

"Got it, boss."

She jutted up on her toes a inch, connecting their lips once more for a haste kiss, and then she pulled away from him, slipping out the sliding glass door. He watched her walk to the road, unable to pull his eyes away a moment.

His lips were permanently stuck in an upwards position. No amount of forcing could get his smile to go away. Not until he turned around, seeing both Natasha and Sam staring at the whole event with wide smirking smiles, and then he was giving them both a 'really?' expression.

"Were you critiquing the performance, or just enjoying yourselves?" he questioned, sarcastically.

"Little of both," Natasha smirked. "It's about time, Rogers. Someone owes me money."

* * *

Surprisingly, the apartment wasn't surrounded by any kind of law enforcement, nor were any S.H.I.E.L.D. agents visibly. Sara knew, though, there wasn't any doubt in the fact there still might be people out there watching the building.

She walked quickly through the first floor and up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. It was a bit hard on her leg. It ached against her movement, but she chose to ignore it, gritting her teeth as she made it to their door.

Her hand unearthed her set of keys from the satchel at her hip, and she unlocked the door, pushing it open slowly. First only peering in her head, she carefully made her way inside. It looked untouched. But that was how they operated.

They would make it look enticing, safe, and then they appear out of seemingly no where to get you where it hurt. So she was cautious in preceding to the bedroom. She couldn't take too long, though, so her steps were quick while her eyes scanned the room.

Under the bed was a pull-out. Inside were her extra arrows she'd stored away in an extra quiver and a rifle case. It wasn't her rifle. It was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s. But she pulled out the case and grabbed the second quiver.

She strapped the quiver to her back under the jacket she found in the living room, a jacket that was most likely Steve's considering it's bulky size. There was a squeak. A shriek of a floorboard. In a second, Sara grabbed the glock beside the rifle case and twisted on her knees, aiming the weapon at whoever might be there.

Sara's eyes narrowed, one eyebrow drooping as the other rose in disbelief. Agent thirteen stood in the doorway. No weapon, no backup. Just her. That didn't stop Sara from aiming, though. "Why are you here?" she questioned.

"Relax, it's just me," the agent assured. "You tripped the alarm at the door, but I shut it off before the others could see it. You're a fugitive, you know."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out," Sara tossed her eyes.

"My name is Sharon, if that helps. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to help."

Sara's eyes narrowed further, if that were possible. "I beg your pardon? _Help_?"

"Look...I know this might be hard to believe, but I don't think you're the enemy here. There's something else going on," Sharon said, using a neutral tone. "How do you expect to get out of here with those? Walking? They'll see you."

Sara stood, reluctantly lowering the gun. She kept a close eye on the agent despite her words, kept the glock at her side with her finger in the trigger guard. "I take it you have another idea?" she assumed, rhetorically.

"I'll drive you," Sharon answered.

Sara almost laughed. "Yeah, right. This is where you butter me up like your Sunday biscuits so I take you to Steve and you get your man. I don't think so, Barbie."

"If I wanted to find Steve Rogers, I would've taken you into custody and broadcasted it," Sharon countered, tilting her head in an expression. "You're important enough to him he'd be here within the hour."

Sara didn't want to admit it, but Sharon was probably right. "Why do you want to help me, then? I thought you had the hots for Captain America," she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"I was keeping my cover. And, to answer your question, it's an honor to even be in the same room with you. You revolutionized how women were treated in military and government situations," Sharon explained, a hint of admiration to her voice. "It started in the SSR. You were a legend."

"And you believed it?" Sara cocked an eyebrow.

"I had proof you existed. You served with my great-aunt, Agent Carter," Sharon replied. Then, with a somewhat nervous chuckle, she added, "You were actually one of my biggest role models growing up. Second only to Aunt Peggy, of course."

Sara was taken aback a moment, but she looked down at the rifle case. It wouldn't make sense to take her offer regardless of if she trusted Sharon. However, it would make sense to take the offer and get a ride, then get dropped off around the block, so to speak.

She took in a breath, giving a singular nod. "Alright, fine."

Sharon lead the way out as Sara followed right behind with her rifle case, bow in hand, with her quiver on her back. Sharon's car was small, black. It was parked just outside next to the curb. After Sara tossed her bow and case onto the back seat, she climbed into the passenger seat, and they were off.

Sara was quiet most of the ride, only speaking to tell Sharon when to turn. She didn't dare give that woman an address. No, she only directed her where to go. That was the safest course of action. Sara might have been born in the nineteen-twenties, but by no means was she lacking intelligence.

It seemed that evil operated in the same way now that they had seventy years ago. None of these tactics were new. Sara exhaled when they finally reached the spot. "Here," she said.

Sharon pulled over, easing the car to a stop. Her eyebrows furrowed. "This house is empty."

Sharon was correct. The house was empty, unoccupied. It even held a for sale sign in its front yard. "Yeah," Sara nodded, opening her door. "That's the point. Thanks for the ride."

Sara climbed out of the car and shut her door, then moved to open the second row seating door to retrieved her things. Sharon stepped out of the car then, turning to face Sara across the roof from her. "What are you going to do?" she inquired.

"Find Steve," Sara answered, simply put, as she backed out from the open door with her rifle case. She slung the bow across her back and pushed the door closed.

Sharon sighed. "I can help you."

"Because I like you, I'm telling you this: stay out of the way, Sharon," Sara told her, seriously, looking into her eyes. "The guy that killed Fury...he's not going to back down. And neither will Hydra. So, therefore, I can't either. Go home. Please."

Sharon stood up a little straighter at that, her expression softening as she digested the sentiment behind Sara's words a moment. Sara gave her one last firm look before walking around the front of the car and crossing the street.

"Give 'em Hell, Sergeant," Sharon called. Across the street, Sara twisted to see her as she slowed her pace a bit. She gave a nod before continuing on her way.

It didn't take too incredibly long to arrive back at Sam Wilson's home. Of course, no one was there. The door was locked but, after searching beneath the mat, Sara found a key. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her and relocking it.

With her rifle laid out on the kitchen room table, she took it apart. Sara had plenty of training disassembling and reassembling weapons. Taking things apart to see how they worked, seeing their inner mechanics, always fascinated her. And, this way, she could more easily clean it.

She was sat at the table with only two rifle pieces left to replace when the front door unlocked from outside, causing her muscles to become rigid in their seat. But they sank with a light relief as Sam pushed through the door.

He smiled at her, but his face dropped to confusion as he approached the table, a large piece of metal in hand. He stopped across from her, his eyes scanning the rifle pieces. "What have you done to my table?"

"You should be proud. It looks a lot better now," Sara smiled sarcastically, as she stood up from her chair. She picked up the rifle and looked to Sam. "This is a Barrett M82A1 fifty caliber sniper rifle. It has a max range of six thousand, eight hundred twelve feet with a ten round magazine."

"...and why do you have it?" Sam questioned, perplexed. Then, he added to clarify, "In my house?" Steve and Natasha crossed the threshold from the door a moment ago, and now stood on either side of Sam.

Sara cocked an eyebrow in a momentary expression, quirking her lips. "This gal is for Sitwell. Blackmail works better with a gun. This, however-" she pulled a knife from her boot, tossing it in the air a bit and catching it before holding it out for him to see. "-is for our assassin. It's a Chinese ring dagger."

"Since when do you use ring daggers?" Natasha questioned.

"Since forty-four," Sara answered, sliding the knife away. As she stood upright again, she put the rifle back on the table. "So, did you get what you were after?"

As if to answer her, Sam hefted the contraption in his hand onto the table top in front of her with a smug look. Sara's eyes rounded ever so slightly, her lips parting in a small jaw-drop. "Wow...can I touch it?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," Sam nodded, smiling.

She bit her lip to hide her excitement as she reached out a hand, ran it over the surface of the machine. "This is amazing," she commented. Her eyebrows drew together as her fingers stopped on a small button of sorts. "What does this do?"

Sam quickly moved forward, "No, wait- don't touch that-!"

It was too late. She'd pressed the button before his words left his mouth. The button apparently worked in conjunction with the wings of the machine. As it was pressed, the large wings shot out from either side, pushing over a chair on the left.

Sara jolted back an inch with wide eyes, "Oh! Oh gosh. Okay, um, my bad."

Natasha stifled a groan, turning to head to the guest room for a shower. "If this is the resistance against Hydra," she said, over her shoulder. "Lord, help us."


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Really Expensive

PRESENT

Sara's fingers popped open the locks on the rifle case on the concrete roof beside her. She picked up the rifle inside and angled herself to better face the three foot tall concrete border in between her body and the edge. "How's it coming, Sara?" Natasha's voice sounded from a ways behind her.

"I'm ready," Sara replied, flicking down the stand at the end of the barrel, adjusting it to set on the concrete border. She nestled the butt of the rifle against her shoulder and leaned in to see through the scope.

Many, many yards away, Jasper Sitwell walked out of a restaurant with Senator Stern. The two seemed to be in some kind of friendly conversation as they arrived at the stairs. The moment Stern began to leave Sitwell, Sara held her phone, on speaker, closer to her lips.

"Sam, you're up," she spoke into it.

At his cue, Sam ended the call with Sara and instead began dialing Agent Sitwell's number. They'd arranged it to seem as though he was receiving a call from Alexander Pierce. As his phone began to ring, Sitwell pulled the device from his inside jacket pocket.

Upon seeing the caller ID was from Pierce, he ordered his entourage to go get the car and answered the call as soon as they were out of earshot. "Yes, sir?"

"Agent Sitwell, how was lunch?" Sam asked. "I hear the crab cakes here are delicious."

Sitwell went rigid. "Who is this?"

"The good-looking guy in the sunglasses, at your 10 o'clock," Sam shamelessly answered. Sara nearly rolled her eyes at his self description.

Sitwell turned, his eyes scanning the block, but he missed Sam completely. "Your other 10 o'clock," Sam corrected. Sitwell's eyes then landed on Sam at the adjustment, and Sam raised his ice tea in a gesture. "There you go."

"What do you want?" Sitwell asked.

"You're gonna go around the corner to your right. There's a gray car two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride."

Sitwell narrowed his eyes. "And why would I do that?"

"Because that tie looks really expensive," Sam said, just as the red light from Sara's sight fixed on Agent Sitwell's tie. "And I'd hate to mess it up."

Sitwell immediately looked down, then up at the surrounding buildings. He couldn't see her. But Sara was there, giving a smirk, fighting the urge to wave tauntingly. Steve and Natasha went to the lobby of the building to wait for Sam while Sara packed up the rifle.

It was disappointing. She wished she could have more time with it, but they were on a time sensitive mission, so she put it back in the case. She'd been leaning her butt against the brick wall by the stairwell door for about five minutes before they arrived.

She remained standing there with her arms crossed, left heel bracing against the brick behind her, an unamused expression present on her face as Sitwell was launched onto the roof through the door to her right.

Steve came marching out after him as the scrawny man scrambled across the floor. "Tell me about Zola's algorithm," Steve demanded.

Sitwell stood and replaced his glasses to his face. "Never heard of it."

"What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?" Steve questioned further.

"Throwing up," Sitwell responded. "I get seasick."

Steve and Natasha backed Sitwell to the very end of the roof. He gasped as his heels hit the edge, teetering him backward. Steve grabbed the Agent's suit jacket and pulled him close, staying in his face. Sitwell smiled triumphantly.

"Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're going to throw me off the roof?" Sitwell asked, rhetorically. "Because it's really not your style, Rogers."

Steve smiled a little, smoothing out Sitwell's jacket. "You're right, it's not. It's hers."

He sidestepped and Natasha didn't hesitate to lunge forward, sending her heel into Sitwell's gut, thrusting him from the roof backward. His girlish screams echoed up the side of the building as he fell.

Not a moment later, Sam appeared soaring above the edge of the roof with Sitwell in hand, dropping the screaming man atop the roof. Sam landed center roof and folded away his wings before turning to face the others.

Steve and Natasha started for Sitwell, who was still on the ground, too terrified to stand at this point. Sam glanced over his shoulder at Sara and smiled. "Did you see how I stuck the landing?" he asked, using his hands to illustrated his next words. "Heels first, then ease yourself forward."

Sara nodded, holding up a thumb in a momentary gesture. "Impeccable."

As Steve and Natasha neared, Sitwell spilled his guts, holding up a hand to ward them off. "Zola's algorithm is a program, for choosing Insight's targets!"

"What targets?" Steve questioned.

"You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Under Secretary Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City...Bruce Banner, Steven Strange- anyone who's a threat to Hydra," Sitwell explained, out of breath. "Including your girlfriend. Riley's above you on the list."

Sitwell sent a look over his shoulder at Sara, and she narrowed her eyes, pushing off the wall. "Why am I such a threat to Hydra?" Sara asked, almost stoic, as she took steps toward Sitwell.

"Why wouldn't you be? Look at you! You're built like a truck, just like him! But if the world found out about the first female super soldier...it'd be game over."

"Why, because I'm a girl? And people support women?" Sara knelt beside Sitwell and gripped at the front of his shirt, yanking him up to his knees to better face her, changing her tone from mocking to steel in under thirty seconds. "What aren't you telling me?"

Sitwell quickly began shaking his head, "Nothing, nothing- I swear!"

"Do you know anything about me? I'm not Captain America. I'll throw you right back off the side of this roof and, this time...no birdie is coming to rescue you," she sneered.

"Okay! Okay, okay...listen, I'll tell you what I can but I don't know much-"

Sara gripped tighter to his tie. "Talk. Now."

"Hydra has started splicing human and animal DNA to mimic the Super Soldier Program. They're trying to make another you," Sitwell finally confessed.

Sara's eyes softened a fraction as the reality of his words hit her shoulders with their heavy weight. It lasted for only a second, as she had no time to stay emotional. Swallowing hard and steeling her features, she asked, "Who are they testing on?"

"I don't- I don't know, I swear," Sitwell urged.

Loosing her grip on his tie, Sara then latched onto his arm, twisting it in one swift motion. She pinned it to his back through the loud pop and snap that it elicited. Sitwell cried out, breathing harder now. "Who are they testing on?" Sara pressed, raising her voice as she held him there, with a knee cap at his lower back.

"Sara! Stop this- that's enough," Steve raised his voice in alarm, mortified at the scene.

"Young twenty-somethings!" Sitwell wailed, in between sporadic audible winces. "All women, all with similar DNA structures to yours- same blood type, sometimes even same ethnicity."

This new information shot a bolt of rage through her veins. Knowing that young women resembling Sara were out there in some Hydra facility being tested on, whether it be against their will or not, was sickening.

Natasha stepped forward at this news. "So, what? You're gonna genetically alter as many young women as it takes until you create Sara Riley 2.0?"

"The goal for Project Blacksite is to create a kind of super soldier with the flexibility, endurance, and skill set as Sara Riley. However long that takes..." Sitwell shrugged as much as he could in Sara's hold. "That's up to the geneticists."

Sara took in a deep breath to keep her composure. "Where are they doing the testing?" Steve demanded the answer. Now he wasn't so much horrified by Sara's actions, but solely concerned for the people in harm's way.

"I don't know. But it doesn't matter. They found the perfect candidate. It's only a matter of days before they perfect the transition process," Sitwell resigned.

At that, Sara yanked hard on his arm instinctually. A crack louder than his screams sounded as his arm pulled far enough to dislocate from the shoulder socket. Sara stood, after giving Sitwell a shove forward, and the man toppled onto the concrete floor.

Steve grimaced, closing his eyes momentarily as he turned his head to look away. Sam jolted backward a step from shock, the loud sound catching him off guard. Natasha didn't bat an eyelash.

"Tistom tapeh yanaal," Sara spat, taking steps back from Sitwell.

"Who the what now?" Sam questioned, confused.

Sara ran her hands back across the smooth hair of her pony tale, turning and walking off in the opposite direction. Natasha was the first to speak. "It's Hebrew," she explained, neutral. "She called him an idiot...in so many words."

Sam's eyebrow popped. "She...wait, Sara's Jewish?"

"She was born in Israel, came to the states when she was twelve," Steve answered, forcing himself to swallow as he looked forward again.

Sitwell was writhing in pain, holding his arm tightly to his chest. Steve sighed heavily, but Natasha gave him a look. "If she wasn't gonna do it, I would have," she said, as though it should be obvious to him.

It felt as though Sara's chest were about to cave in. Her lungs were pumping, but no oxygen seemed to be getting through. The air was so thin. At nearly the other side of the roof now, she turned to face the brick wall at her left.

With a shout of rage, she lunged at the wall, sending her fist into the brick. The wall cratered in around her hand, breaking apart and erupting puffs of brick dust. She nearly went all the way through. With a hard yank, she pulled her hand free and stepped back, surveying the damage.

It wasn't enough. Nothing she did was enough. She became a super soldier to help people, and yet her image of strength only gave an example of achievable evil to the enemy. Everything she stood for would soon be erased by yet another mindless Hydra soldier.

Rage coursed through her veins. It was so much, too much to hold still. So she turned on her heel and marched toward Sitwell and the others. Steve saw her coming and he knew she meant trouble. He lunged forward to grab her, wrapping an arm around her front to hold her back.

"How can you live with yourself?" she shouted at Sitwell, over Steve's shoulder. She fought him as he tried to push her away, pushing back just as hard, if not harder. "You're letting those girls be mutilated like animals- and for what? Your little immortal utopia? News flash, moron, you can't rule the world if we're all dead!"

"Sara- Sara! That's enough!" Steve shouted, keeping his strength use minimal as not to hurt her. "Stop it! Sara!"

"Let me go, Rogers!" Sara used nearly her full strength capacity, fighting back without limits. Her strength forced Steve back a few feet, but only by means of sliding on his shoes, the ones planted in the concrete like a tree. "You're going to let him go? After all he's done?"

"Em! Stop!" Steve reiterated, more forcefully as he gritted his teeth, returning the force she pressed against his arms with. He matched her strength, creating a stalemate, but then he pushed harder.

Sara was forced back several steps, Steve groaning through the extra effort necessary the whole way. He gave her an extremely hard push as he let go of her, and she skidded back three feet across the roof. "That's enough, Em," Steve pressed, using a normal volume of voice.

Her lungs burned against the constraints of her rib cage. "Captain America? What a joke," she responded, her lower lip quivering as her eyes began to fill.

"Em...calm down. Okay? This isn't you," Steve shook his head, taking a cautious step toward her. "He's not gonna get away with this. Just like the rest of Hydra, he'll pay for what he's done."

"Did they pay for killing Bucky?" Sara asked, rhetorically. The slow, single tears rolling down her cheeks glistened in the bright sunlight. Steve was taken aback by her words. He didn't know how to respond to such a comment.

Upon his silence, Sara gave a toss of her eyes and turned on her heel. She marched past Sam and right through the roof access door, into the stairwell. The door thudded as it fell closed behind her.

When Sam, Steve, and Natasha exited the building dragging Sitwell by his suit jacket, Sara was leaning her butt against the hood of Sam's car by the road. Her arms were crossed, eyes downcast. "Come on, we're heading out," Steve said, stepping around her to open the back seat door.

Natasha shoved Sitwell into the back and climbed in after him, Sam taking to the driver seat. Steve held the door, waiting for Sara to get in, but she didn't. Taking her silent cue with a heavy sigh, he shoved the door closed and turned to face her.

Sara's eyes shifted up to meet his. "I shouldn't have said that up there."

"Em...really, it's okay," he shook his head.

"Okay? How is any of this okay?" she questioned, eyebrows knitted together as she pushed off the car. "Stop making excuses for me. I'm sorry for what I said. Tell me it didn't all you want, but I know you, and I know that it hurt you."

Steve looked down with an exhale. Once again, she was right. She stepped forward and slid her hands onto the soft skin of his cheekbones, lifting his face, forcing him to look her in the eye.

Her gaze was full of guilt. If you looked closely enough, you would find water in there as well. "I don't know what's going on with me," she shook her head, letting it fall to the side in a bittersweet expression. "But, the last thing I want to do, is hurt another person...another person that I- I love."

"I know," he said, voice just above a whisper. Seeing the hurt on her face caused his chest to physically ache. He pulled her in by her shoulders, held her against his chest with his arms around her small frame, and her forehead pressed into the crook of his neck.

A quiet, slow whooshing sound came from not far off beside them, just before Sam's voice echoed out of the car at them. "Hey, uh...I don't want to be 'that guy', but we gotta go," he said, apologetically.

It was unwelcome, but Steve and Sara parted. He managed to sneak a small kiss to her left temple before she could slip past him. Sara climbed into the backseat beside Natasha and Steve sat in the passenger seat.

The first order of business was getting on the freeway. "Hydra doesn't like leaks," Sitwell said, clutching his throbbing arm to his chest, as they sped along the freeway. Sara all but rolled her eyes.

"So why don't you try sticking a cork in it?" Sam rebutted, sending daggers the agent's way in the rear view mirror.

"Insight's launching in sixteen hours. We're kind of cutting it a little bit close here," Natasha said, leaning between the front seats.

"I know. We'll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the helicarriers directly," Steve replied.

"What?" Sitwell screeched. "Are you crazy? That is a terrible, terrible idea." A thud sounded from the roof just seconds before the glass of Sitwell's window shattered in. A silver hand gripped Sitwell's jacket and gave a yard hank.

Sitwell was thrust from the car with a scream, sent across the divider into the opposite flow of traffic, just as a semi was barreling by. Sara and Natasha wore wide eyed, baffled expressions. A bullet tore through the roof just beside Natasha.

Sara gave her a shove, "Move!"

Natasha flung forward, practically diving into Steve's lap as more bullets pierced the roof. Sara pressed herself to the far right edge of the car. Sam slammed on the brakes then. A man in black tumbled forward off the hood of the car and skidded onto the road.

The man slid backward, slowing himself to a halt with the help of his metal hand against the asphalt beneath him. The air in Sara's lungs was forced out. "This is not good," Sam mumbled. "This is not good."

Natasha pulled her gun and aimed it at the windshield, poised to shoot just as a hummer rammed the car from behind, shattering the glass in the rear windshield and forcing the car forward. Sam's foot remained firmly on the break, but it did nothing.

As they neared him, The Winter Soldier leapt atop the car, holding on. Sam pressed the gas. Not a second passed before The Winter Soldier broke through the front windshield and gripped the steering wheel, yanking it out and tossing it aside.

Sam gaped, eyes wider than ever before in his shock. Natasha fired her gun at the ceiling and The Winter Soldier leapt back to the front of the hummer, falling back a few feet to avoid her. But the hummer quickly began to gain speed behind them.

Sara grabbed her bow off the floor and loaded it with an arrow, launching the arrow out the miniscule remains of the rear windshield. The Winter Soldier dodged to miss the arrows she fired, but she wasn't aiming to hit. She was aiming to gain time.

The hummer increased its speed drastically, slammed its front into the back of Sam's car, sending it swerving into the left concrete divider. Sara's back hit the car door behind her from the sudden jolt. The force of her weight against the door broke the door off completely.

Sara went tumbling out from the vehicle, onto the asphalt. Her long sleeves did little to actually protect her arms, but the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been, as she rolled to a stop. Though, her head did pound from the drop.

A moment later, the car vaulted from the road and twisted mid-air. Steve, Sam, and Natasha all dropped out through the passenger side door, landing on Steve's shield, using it as a sled across the road. Sam dropped away after a few feet, rolling along the asphalt on his own.

As Steve and Natasha stood once they'd stopped, a Hydra agent handed The Winter Soldier a grenade launcher up ahead. Steve pushed Natasha away and hiked up his shield as a grenade sped through the air at him. The grenade exploded against his shield, sending him flying back several feet off the over pass and into a bus, which then collided with a utility vehicle, tipping the bus onto its side.

Sara hissed from the sting in her hands as she hurried to get to her feet. Her eyes scanned the ground frantically for her bow, but she couldn't see it. A wall of agents sent a barrage of bullets at the three remaining on the road as they made their way toward them.

Natasha and Sam dove behind cars, seeking shelter. The Winter Soldier shot a grenade at Natasha's vehicle and she dove over the divider to escape its explosion. She rolled to miss oncoming cars and scrambled behind a parked car on the other side.

Sara, hunched and walking fast, made her way up the aisle of overturned cars to Sam. She tapped his shoulder blade area as she darted past him. She made it halfway to where Natasha used to be and vaulted over the divider, tucking and rolling into oncoming traffic.

She threw herself the last few feet to get behind the car with Natasha. "We need to find Steve," Sara said, shouting to be heard over the gunfire.

"Yeah, that's gonna have to wait a little bit, sweetheart," Natasha said, eyeing the gunman over the hood of the car. "Go, now!"

Natasha shoved and pushed at Sara for the split second it took for Sara to understand what was going on. They leapt over the side of the over pass just as the car they once hid behind exploded due to a shot from The Winter Soldier.

Natasha grabbed Sara and used her grappling device to safely glide the pair down to the road below, hitting the ground running, heading for the other side of the over pass.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Now You See Me

PRESENT

Sara and Natasha slid to a stop just before the edge of the over pass. Natasha aimed her gun up at the edge, angled just right, and fired a couple shots as The Winter Soldier peered his head over to aim his own weapon.

A bullet hit his goggle-like-glasses and he jolted back, slinking down against the cement side of the over pass. He pulled off the now broken glasses and tossed them away. Then he stood up and fired rapidly down at the road.

Natasha fired back from her perch behind a utility truck, then slunk back as he began firing on her new position. Sara felt helpless, pressing her back to the utility truck beside Natasha, trying not to get shot. It was her least favorite feeling, the helplessness.

The Winter Soldier kept firing. Natasha sent a look to Sara before sprinting along the utility truck and across the road, using parked cars for sporadic cover. Sara zipped into the road after her, not far behind. They just barely missed a new spray of bullets.

Natasha began speaking into her S.H.I.E.L.D. device as they ran, once they'd gotten out of eye sight. Sara's eyebrows drew together, "What are you doing?"

"Giving us some strategic advantage," Natasha answered, ending the recording. "Over there, the mini van." They skidded around the backside of a silver mini van and crouched along the passenger side. Bystanders fled screaming in every which direction.

Sara heaved in a breath as Natasha asked, "Weapons?"

"Nothing. I lost my bow on the over pass," Sara answered. "Still got bullets?"

"Barely. So, you know, not really," Natasha shook her head, checking her clip.

Sara groaned, slamming her head back against the metal of the car, denting it in. "Listen, we're not hopeless yet," Natasha said. "We've got maybe three minutes before he gets here. We put this recording on a loop behind that car over there and hide behind that car back there."

Sara nodded slowly as the plan came into her mind in vivid images, clear enough for her to process in the high stress of the situation. "Yeah, do it."

Natasha nodded once and hurried across the few feet of road left to a small two-door parked along the sidewalk. She hit play on her previous recording and ditched the device there by the front wheel. Then she turned on her heel and hurried back over to Sara.

Sara pulled herself up and the two darted across the road in the opposite direction, diving behind another parked car, backs pressed to the metal. Suddenly the car on the other side of the street exploded due to a shot from The Winter Soldier.

Sara dropped her knife free from her boot and slid over the hood of the car, sending her feet plowing into his back. He was thrust forward, his gun clattering back to the ground. She swung up with her knife, and it just barely missed him as he bent backward, turning to see her at the same time.

The Winter Soldier took quick steps backward, bending back enough to escape the sharp blade she continued to thrust in his direction. Sara pivoted on her left heel, twisting to send the other one at his head. He ducked, just missing it, and grabbed her wrist as she made to use her knife again.

His metal fingers encircled her wrist with a literal iron grip. All her body managed as a reaction was a grimace. It was all she had time for. He gave her a hard kick to the abdomen and the force knocked her back several feet, slamming her back into the car parked along the street.

The car dented in against her weight and speed, crunching the metal with a loud whine. In a second he was marching toward her. Instinctively, she reached beside her and grabbed hold of the bent and broken metal frame of the car window, pulling hard until it ripped clean off.

He was almost a foot from her when she swung it at him, smacking him hard against the right side of his face with the metal. It forced him to the right a step, but overall seemed to do little. She swung her leg, but he caught her ankle, twisting with both hands.

His strength sent her spiraling to the left, hitting the ground hard a few feet away, flat on her stomach. She only had a moment to comprehend what had just happened before fire burned its way across her scalp as he grabbed a fist of her hair, yanking her to her knees.

Sara couldn't help but audibly wince. His metal hand gripped her throat, but it didn't tighten. "Stay out of my way," were his only words, causing her eyes to shift up. He let her go with a thrust and she caught herself with her palms to the pavement.

She didn't have any doubts of what this was. It wasn't mercy, it wasn't him sparing her. It was a warning, one not to be taken lightly. Natasha took in a deep breath. "That's my cue, " she quickly mumbled, before launching herself over the hood of the car.

She was airborne in a second, wrapping her legs around his shoulders and neck, using her wire to not only fight him but to also stay on. He back pedaled instantly, slamming her back into the car behind them. The Winter Soldier grabbed Natasha with his metal arm and gave her a yank, vaulting her off him and across the street, into the side of the silver mini van.

Natasha dropped to the floor, but she pulled a silver disk from her sleeve just as he was regaining his weapon from the drop. She sent it flying through the air, and it latched onto his metal arm, sending electric pulses into it, rendering his metal arm useless.

"Sara, run!" Natasha shouted.

Sara peeled herself off the floor, but she limped away. The twist to her ankle was enough to hurt a little, but it was a previously injured leg to start, then the added injury only made it worse. She looked odd but she ran with Natasha up the street.

They hurried up the sidewalk and rounded the corner, shouting at anyone they saw to get to safety. Sara nearly moved to a complete stop as a blood curdling scream from a child pierced her ears. Her head twisted on her shoulder, eyes scanning the street.

Natasha stopped not too far ahead, turning to face her. "What are you doing? Let's move!" she said, confused.

Suddenly Sara saw the source of the noise. A small child, a boy, standing on the opposite sidewalk a few feet away, holding a tiny bear and crying, next to an overturned minivan. Sara looked to Natasha. "Go, get out of here!" she replied, waving a hand in a gesture. "I'll be right behind you."

"Steve's gonna kill me for this," Natasha grumbled. She turned on her heel and sprinted up the street.

Sara dashed to the opposite sidewalk, sliding onto her knees in front of the child. He startled at the sudden movement, backing away a step, but Sara gently gripped his shoulders. "Hey, hey, hey- shh, it's okay," she assured, looking him over for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No..."

"What's your name?"

"Arthur," he replied, sniffling back another wave of tears. Sara twisted to see the mini van behind her. She could just make out bodies inside before she quickly turned away, focusing on the boy to keep his attention away from the van.

Sara swallowed. "Arthur, my name is Sara. I'm going to get you somewhere safe, okay?"

He nodded a little. "Okay."

Sara nodded in return and scooped the child into her arms. He clung to her as though his life literally depended on it. "Okay, keep your eyes down alright? Don't look up for any reason," she instructed, gently.

He nodded against her shoulder in agreement and she started into a fast pace, almost jogging along the sidewalk, past screaming and running civilians and smoking cars. Sara didn't even know where she was going, or how she would actually keep this boy safe.

She continued into a jog, determined. A car to her right burst into flames, shooting several feet off the ground, and Sara instinctively dropped to her knees, twisting to cover the boy with her body. A wave of heat hit her, but she was moving as soon as it calmed enough.

Sara cut left across a small park to a government-looking building. It was a Greek style architecture with a few steps leading up to the glass doors. Sara hurried inside, pushing open the doors with her foot. It sent a jolt of pain up her leg to rest any weight on it, but she ignored it. There was no time for pain.

She walked fast to the receptionist against the far right corner of the building. "Excuse me?" Sara said, approaching quickly.

The young woman behind the desk looked up, doing a double-take at the woman in front of her desk. "Can I help you?" she asked, slowly, unsure.

"This boy was out on the street, I can't find his family," Sara spoke quickly. "I need to leave him here with you. Can you find somewhere safe for him?"

The woman nodded quickly, getting up from her chair. Sara lowered Arthur to stand on his own feet, and he stepped away from her. "Where are you going to go?" he asked her, with tear stained cheeks.

"I'm going back out there. But you stay with this woman, okay? She'll find family to come get you," Sara assured, speaking softly as her hands remained on his small shoulders.

"Okay..." he said, head hanging a bit.

Sara felt bad for leaving him, the look on his face making her chest ache, making her want to stay. But she nodded to the receptionist and dove back out the front of the building. Gritting her teeth, she jolted herself into a sprint.

She was too far behind, missing all of the action. Someone undoubtedly could be using her help right now but instead was perishing due to her absence. At least, that's what she told herself, running faster than a speeding bullet, along the sidewalk.

"Yo! Wonder Woman!"

Sara's head snapped back to look up at the sudden voice. Sam was flying just fast enough to stay pace with her. "You dropped this," he said, with a smirk, as he tossed her bow at her face. She bent to catch it, slinging it on her back.

"Thanks," she said, speeding along. "You didn't happen to grab any arrows, did you?"

"Oh, you mean these old things?"

He dropped her quiver at her face next, and she darted left a step to be able to catch it without using her nose as a landing zone. "You're the best, birdie!" she smiled, giving a salute before kicking it into high speed, passing him easily.

She rounded the street corner just in time to catch a brief glimpse of The Winter Soldier's metal fist colliding with Steve's shield atop a car. But then The Winter Soldier kicked Steve in the gut, sending him flying off the car and onto the street.

The Winter Soldier had dropped onto his back from the force, but he quickly sat up and began firing his AK at Steve's shield, where Steve hunkered behind in a huddle on the road. Sara loaded an arrow into her bow and drew it back. In a second, she'd locked onto him and loosed it, and the arrow hit The Winter Soldier's gun.

The gun flew to the right, out of his hands, and he dove off the side of the car for cover. It gave him enough time to change guns. Steve used his shield for cover as he hurried alongside the car The Winter Soldier was behind, making his way around the backside.

Steve vaulted himself over the roof of the car, kicking The Winter Soldier's gun from his hands, then quickly hiked up his shield to take cover from the 9mm The Winter Soldier pulled out next. It was like he was a walking gun store.

The Winter Soldier got hold of Steve's shield and tried a twisting move, flipping Steve about, in turn gaining control of the shield. He rolled Steve back several feet with a hit to the jaw, and he stood holding the shield ready for Steve's impending attack.

Sara felt a bubble of rage pop inside her chest, coating every inner wall, causing her lungs to pump faster and her veins to heat up. She pulled her bow string over her head and jolted into a sprint up the road. The Winter Soldier saw her coming. He launched the shield in her direction and she turned in her stride to miss getting beheaded.

The shield lodged into a tall van parked alongside the road. Sara kept running. The Winter Soldier pulled a knife free from a sheath on his hip and she nearly rolled her eyes. He was not about to best her with a knife. Knives were _her_ thing.

He swung as she approached and she ducked left to miss it, this pattern carrying on for a solid handful of seconds before she saw her opportunity, and she took it. He swung with the knife and she ducked, giving her space to shrug her bow over her shoulder.

She loaded an arrow and launched it at him, point-blank, as she turned to face him. The arrow was explosive. It hit his chest and burst into flames, sending him airborne. His back slammed into a gray van parked several feet behind them.

Sara ran at him as he pushed off the now cratered in van. He swung his metal fist and she dodged, coming back with a hit of her own that landed on his jaw. He would swing and miss and she would return with a successful hit with a pattern lasting a few moments.

The Winter Soldier had had enough of her winning. He saw a perfect opening and seized it, grabbing her throat with his metal arm, squeezing tightly as he turned them, slamming her back into the non-cratered part of the van's side.

She gasped out any air she had left in her lungs a second after he'd grabbed her. His storming blue eyes bore into her with such an intensity, she was thankful looks really could not kill a human being. "I told you to stay out of my way," he hissed, almost growling.

"Does it...look like...I listened?" she rasped out.

He pulled a second knife from his belt and poised it to kill, winding it back above his shoulder. "EM!" Steve shouted, the peril of the situation hitting him square in the chest. He dove forward, ramming a knee into The Winter Soldier's back.

The Winter Soldier was thrust forward, into the van beside Sara, releasing his hold on her. Her knees hit the asphalt and she sucked in a breath, coughing it out like seal. The Winter Soldier turned and grabbed Steve's neck, using his metal arm to fling Steve over the hood of the van.

The Winter Soldier leapt atop the hood, then hopped off the other side, his fist coming down first. Steve rolled to miss it, and the metal fist cratered in the asphalt beneath it, where Steve's head was seconds ago.

Steve scrambled to his feet in time to trade a set of fists with The Winter Soldier, both taking the occasional hit. Steve was thrust back into another parked van, and The Winter Soldier pulled out a knife. He swung it at Steve, Steve blocked, and the knife dove into the van next to Steve's head.

The Winter Soldier pushed hard against Steve, forcing Steve to moved quickly to the left, basically keying the side of the van with the knife. Steve dropped low as they reached the end of the van, taking the chance to grabbed the soldier by his torso and body slam him into the asphalt.

Steve lurched to his feet and pulled his shield from the van just in time to block one of The Winter Soldier's swinging fists. It so happened to be the one gripping the knife. Steve blocked a hit, then twisted and drove the shield into the soldier's metal bicep.

The metal sparked as Steve groaned from the pressure. He swung the shield up under The Winter Soldier's arm and landed a hit to his face, then his free hand gripped the soldier's face mask and yanked, vaulting The Winter Soldier over his shoulder several feet.

The Winter Soldier rolled as he hit the ground, coming to stand on his feet yards away. His black face mask lay teetering unevenly on the asphalt feet behind him. Sara stumbled around the front of the van and quickly loaded an arrow into her bow.

Her aim remained trained on him, ready with a kill shot for a moment's notice, but every muscle in her body went rigid as The Winter Soldier sent a glare at them, turning half way to face them. Her heart sank, then lurched into her throat in a nanosecond, and she found herself struggling more to breathe now than when he was strangling her.

"Bucky?" it came from her lips in a whisper, then it rose to a desperate shout. "Bucky!"

His features showed mild confusion as he turned more toward them, "Who the Hell is Bucky?"

His flesh hand raised his gun, aimed at both super soldiers, and Sara took a step back. Her arms were faltering, shaking violently, threatening to stop working all together. Sam dove in feet first from behind just then, kicking The Winter Soldier in the back.

The soldier tumbled forward several feet, but he was back up and aiming his gun in a second. A whizzing sound tickled Steve's ear and he ducked just in time to miss a grenade being launched from behind him. It soared through the air and exploded into a truck just beside the soldier.

In the smoke, The Winter Soldier disappeared. Sara's bow clattered to the ground, out of her trembling hands. Her whole body was joining in their shakes now. A sound only able to be categorized as a whimper forced its way past her lips as she stumbled back a step.

Steve was in shock. But he hurried to move beside Sara, wrapping an arm around her middle to keep her upright, to keep her against his side, where he could protect her. He glanced over his shoulder. Natasha was leaning her shoulder into a parked truck feet behind them, holding the grenade launcher. She gave a nod, and Steve looked to Sara.

"Em?" he tried, a bit out of breath. "Em, talk to me."

Just then, black armored cars pulled up to block the exits, their sirens blaring and blue lights flashing. Sara didn't respond. She didn't even do so much as bat an eyelash. Her whole body was now frozen there, in a state of mental nothingness.

She couldn't truly comprehend Rumlow approaching them with S.T.R.I.K.E., aiming a gun at them and yelling at them to get on their knees. But she did it. She held up her hands in her numbness and eased herself down.

A S.T.R.I.K.E. member slid away his gun and gathered her hands to put handcuffs on her. But she didn't notice. She didn't care. All she felt was nothingness engulfing her body. She could see it as though it just happened, that fateful day on the train.

Bucky dangled from the side of the train, and Steve climbed out to help him back inside. Sara could do nothing but watch. Steve held out his hand, called for Bucky to grab it. But it was almost as though Bucky knew, he knew somehow that he wouldn't make it out alive.

His eyes shifted toward Sara in a momentary flicker. It was just enough to say what they'd only gotten to say once before then: I love you. Then it was tainted with nothing but fear as that bar he held broke, and he fell hundreds of feet to his death.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: I Knew Her

PRESENT

"Move," Rumlow gave a shove to Sara's shoulder, forcing her to move forward a step. She didn't resist, not in the way he'd expected, but it did make his job easier.

Sara couldn't get herself out of her own mind. Her eyes were moving, she was still breathing, but it was like she was dead on the inside. Her thoughts screamed and yet she did not make a sound. It was like she was trapped inside her body, unable to act or react to anything.

She took note of her surroundings still. She filed away their location, the guards, the restraints, and how it all coordinated. Times and distances, entrances and exits were what she focused on.

They appeared to be in some kind of bank. A guard opened the gold metal door, a door with bars like a prison cell, but on the inside was anything but. Safe deposit boxes lined the walls. Near the far right corner of the room sat a bare-chested Bucky, with vacant eyes as a scientist-looking man repaired his metal arm.

Sara almost couldn't keep moving, a second long falter that nearly gave away her uncaring demeanor. But she recovered quickly, moving as directed to a thick metal chair on the far left, sitting in it as told.

Rumlow locked her wrists together behind the chair with dense, heavy metal cuffs. "What's wrong, Riley? I figured you'd be happy," he commented, before standing and stepping around to the front of the chair.

Sara's eyes shifted up to his face, but she remained stoic. "Why would I be happy?"

"You've got your boy back," he explained, as though it should be obvious. "That's what you wanted right?"

She leveled her eyes at the wall across from her. Her heart was like a heavy stone in her chest, weighing her whole body down, beneath the invisible waves about to drown her. "You're sick," she spat, quietly.

"Yeah, well, don't worry. When we're done with you, you won't know the difference."

He turned and started for the exit, and she let her eyes fall closed. It took everything in her still trembling body to keep herself together. When she opened her eyes, they were a bit blurred at the edges, but she forced it back with a deep breath.

Even under such circumstances, she would not allow herself to cry in front of Hydra. Never has she done it and never will she in the future. Opening her eyes, she shifted her gaze left a few inches, chancing a glance.

Bucky, or The Winter Soldier, whatever he was now, stared blankly at her. His eyes were glazed over and empty but they remained on her. She wanted to say something. She wanted to get his attention, make him wake up from his daydream, but she didn't.

She sat quietly, removing her eyes from him, instead looking to the floor at her feet. It was a much better spot than his face. Those smoldering features and once bright blue eyes only brought back archaic feelings she couldn't afford to feel in this moment.

A whirling sound and a shout cause Sara's eyes to shoot left, landing on the scientist-looking man who now lay on the floor feet from where she knew he was sitting moments ago. Then they moved to Bucky. He was sitting forward, chest heaving.

He looked angered, positioned ready to fight off an invisible threat. The S.T.R.I.K.E. agents in the room had their weapons trained on him in a split second, ready to fire if he stepped out of line again. But he still only looked across the room at her.

The scientist-looking men helped each other to their feet and made their way out of the room. It wasn't long until she heard voices from just outside the room. "Sir, he's- he's unstable," a man said. "Erratic." A second passed and Alexander Pierce strode into the room, Rumlow a stride behind him.

Pierce gave a silent order to stand down with a hand gesture, aiming it at the S.T.R.I.K.E. agents as he approached Bucky slowly. Sara forced herself to swallow, take a deep breath, and will her hands to stop shaking behind her chair.

"Mission report," Pierce ordered, sliding his glasses into his suit jacket pocket.

Bucky didn't respond, only continued to blankly stare at the woman across the room. The flashes, small images, were something intangible. They were bits and pieces in his mind, broken into fractals of familiarity. A knowledge of a time just out of his reach.

Pierce repeated himself, "Mission report."

When Bucky continued to be silent, Pierce sent the back of his hand across Bucky's left cheek. Bucky rocked to the right from the force. Sara's body instinctively jolted in her chair, a shot of anxious adrenaline hitting her veins.

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed as he remained quiet only a moment longer. Then he looked more toward Pierce. "That woman..." his voice was worn, crackling. "Who is she?"

"You met her earlier this week on another assignment," Pierce replied, stoically.

"I knew her," Bucky's eyes shifted to Sara again.

This time, he looked awake, cognoscente of what he was looking at. Sara's chest felt tight. Her lungs were too constricted by her own ribcage, it felt as though she were about to suffocate. Pierce pulled a small rolling stool nearby closer and lowered himself to sit.

"Your work has been a gift to mankind," he told Bucky. "You helped shape the century. And I need you to do it one more time."

Sara couldn't hold it in any longer. She was about to burst, her eyes blurred at the edges yet again. "Bucky," she blurted, causing his eyes to focus on her a little more. "Don't listen to him. He's manipulating you. You know me- I'm Sara, Sara Riley."

Pierce sighed, turning to see Rumlow behind him. "Get a gag on her, will you?"

"Sara...?" Bucky repeated back the name, though still unknowing of its importance.

"Please, Bucky, listen to me," Sara spoke quickly, eyes blurred almost completely. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, you're from Brooklyn, New York. Your best friend is Steve Rogers."

Sara kept talking, rapidly divulging two or three more facts, before Rumlow quickly approached her, forcing a rope of cloth across her mouth, tying it behind her head. Pierce cleared his throat, sighing.

"Where was I?" he said. "Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're going to give it a push. But if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and Hydra can't give the world the freedom it deserves. People like her, over there? They're trying to keep the world in a cage. We can't let that happen."

Bucky's features had slowly been drooping throughout Pierce's monologue. Now they sagged, etched deep with a certain sadness. "But I knew her."

Sara bit down hard on the gag in her mouth, mostly to keep herself from screaming. Pierce pursed his lips and stood, stepping back toward the scientist-looking men. "Prep him," he said.

"He's been out of cryo-freeze too long," one of the men replied.

"Then wipe him, and start over," Pierce ordered.

Sara pulled at the cuffs in a jerking tug, lurching her back off the chair, her eyes becoming round as a pang of guilt hit her chest. Bucky's head turned slightly, just enough to move his eyes toward her. There was a certain urgency in his expression as he searched her face, desperate for just a little more recollection.

Sara's head tilted just slightly as a tear rolled off her chin, her eyes sending a silent apology to the man across the room, an apology for opening her mouth. She knew this was her fault. If she hadn't said anything at all, this wouldn't be happening.

The scientist-looking men pushed Bucky back in the chair by his shoulders and began prepping the machine. Sara angled her head, using her shoulder, giving every ounce of strength she had left to force the gag from her mouth.

It hurt her jaw, and it felt tight around her neck, but she managed to get it down, just as the metal holds on the machine latched closed around his arms. "Please! Please- don't do this," she spoke up, though her whole body trembled violently, her voice included. "Rumlow, please, don't let them do this."

Rumlow's eyes moved in her direction for a brief moment, and in that moment there was a flicker of something. Some unreadable emotion crossed his features. It was nothing good, nothing in her favor. It was the exact thing she'd done moments ago: a silent apology.

Then his eyes were gone again as Pierce turned to leave, and Rumlow followed him out. The pieces of the machine lowered and clicked into place, flush with either side of Bucky's head. Sara screamed for them to stop, begged for it.

As the machine's whirring increased, electrical sounds amplified, and Bucky began to scream. Loud, painful screams. Sara squeezed her eyes shut but there wasn't much she could do to stop the sound. There wasn't anything she could do.

Every decibel brought a rushing wave of rage that washed over her, pushing her blood to the boiling point, the point of no return. Her wrists twisted in the cuffs. They felt light, not as heavy as they once were. She gave a tug.

The metal didn't budge at first. But she pulled again, harder, and it bowed outward. Gritting her teeth, she pulled one final time. Every muscle in her body contracted as she used every bit of super soldier strength her body would allow.

Her wrists shot free as the metal snapped, making a sharp pinging sound. Then she was up. The S.T.R.I.K.E. agents left in the room had their guns on her in a second, yelling at her to sit back down, but she didn't listen. Her objective wasn't to talk, it was to escape.

The closest agent went down with a twist of his wrist and an arm jabbed into the side of his neck. The next agent came at her, prepared to fire. Sara ducked his swing, sent her knuckles into his nose, eliciting a hard crack, and grabbed the barrel of his gun.

Her strength was no match for him. She ripped his weapon away easily, only to slam the butt of it into the side of his head. Two bullets put down the other agents in the room. She aimed the gun at the guards opening the gate, rushing to come to their fallen comrade's aid.

Sara fired as they appeared through the doorway, the two large men from outside now dead on the ground. Without looking back, she jolted into a sprint through the door. There were three more agents in the main room of the building, at the other end of a long hallway.

They barely knew she was there before one head-shot each took them down. She made her way through the front to the door, pushing through to the outside. A wave of cold air hit her as she skidded to a stop on the sidewalk.

Her chest heaved, heart beating faster than ever before. The gun in her hands was a little large to be carrying around the streets of D.C. unnoticed, so she ditched it in the nearest available trash receptacle, continuing on her way in an unknown direction.

She had no inkling where Sam, Steve, and Natasha might have been taken, or if they'd escaped yet or not, but she kept moving. There was no sense in stopping, not with possible Agents on her tail. They'd be looking for her as soon as they knew she'd escaped.

Sara walked a few miles in silence, that numb nothingness creeping its way back into her head, into her body. Her feet were moving, but she wasn't telling them to, it was only instinct keeping her going at this point.

Across the river, at the tree line, her feet stopped, unable to carry her any farther without instruction. Her stomach felt sick as a lump in her throat reared its head. And she cracked. A strangled, physically painful sob ripped its way out of her.

Her eyes were laid siege upon by a surge of tears. She fell to her knees in the dirt, fingers gaining firm grips on locks of her hair, close to her scalp. Though, she couldn't feel the pain it caused. Only the heat in her eyes from the tears, the tightness in her abdomen, and the dryness of her throat.

In her mind, she heard his scream. She felt the pain in his voice. Outwardly, there was only one more strangled sob before a scream of her own forced its way from her throat. But it was not loud enough to drown out the one inside. She fell back on her butt, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

This was too much. It was too much to hold at once. Her scalp burned from the tight grip on her hair but, in a deranged sense, it felt necessary. The pain felt needed. It was something physical to outweigh the emotional. Though, it didn't work as much as she needed it to.

She let her hands fall to the dirt. Opening her eyes, everything was one giant haze. She scooted herself back, until her spine hit the base of a tree. And she stayed there, with her knees hiked up nearly to her chest, a hand tangled deep in the hair atop her head, and her eyes creating their own rain.

There was nowhere else for her to go, nowhere else for her to drain this from her system. So she sat against the tree and let it come out until it couldn't anymore. By that time, the sun was close to the horizon, teasing its presence.

Her arms were loosely draped around her knees, her eyes red and dry, watching as it appeared as a sliver across the river. There was nothing left in her but pain. A pain set so deep in her bones no tear would ever shed it. All her tears left her was a dull headache and an empty chest.

After sitting for so long, her limbs needed to move. So she dragged herself to her feet, giving a small stretch of her arms before continuing on, travelling slowly into the trees. The only thing for her was retreat.

She blinked hard, trying to get some hydration into her dry eyes. It didn't work. She passed a gate on the road to her right, but that's not what caused her to pause, turning in that direction to get a better look. It was the person standing several yards past it.

Correction, the people. There were two. It was Sam and Steve, visibly arguing, or at least in a very serious discussion. The air caught in Sara's lungs, but at the same time her body flooded with relief upon seeing them both.

"Steve!" she shouted, her voice foreign in her own hears, both men turning at the sound of it. "Sam!"

Steve's heart lurched into his throat, "Em!"

He immediately started running. It was a bit of a stagger at first, but Sara ran to meet him, jumping at him the second he was within reach. Her arms latched around his neck almost tight enough to break it, the backs of her knees hook on his hips. She held onto him like the only refuge from a raging ocean at her feet, like if she stepped down she would burn in a wildfire.

Steve exhaled, his body flooding with relief, burying his face in her neck. "I was so worried," he breathed, his chin on her shoulder. "I was coming to find you-"

"Steve, it's okay- It's okay, I'm okay."

Sara pulled back a few inches, shifting her weight, just enough to rest her forehead against his. Her voice was one big tremble, wobbling and breaking. It didn't sound like she was okay at all. He sighed, biting back the protest rising in his throat.

Instead, he tipped up his chin, pressing his lips against hers. Her hands found their way to his face as she kissed him back. Only a second had passed before from behind came a holler. It was Sam, "Hey! If y'all are done sucking each other's faces off, they want you guys inside."

Sara almost instantly pulled away, and she dropped down to stand on her own, though he kept his arms around her a moment longer. Something felt different. She felt different. Little did he know her quick response wasn't due to Sam's words.

She gave a small, closed-mouthed smile and stepped around him, pulling herself from his arms to start walking toward Sam halfway across the concrete bridge. Steve watched her walk away, puzzled. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was no time to question it right now, so he filed it away, but still it nagged at him as he followed slowly behind.

Sam smiled at Sara as she approached him. "What did you do, take a lap around D.C.?"

"You see, I took three. And here you only took one," she smiled a little, using sarcasm to hide the bitter taste in her mouth.

He gave her a look, playing along, "Uh-huh, sure. That's it. Well, you look terrible. Did you fall in a sewer?"

She scoffed, walking beside him toward the building at the end of the bridge. "Gee, Wilson. Stop before you make me blush," she rolled her eyes. "I got tied up and gagged. And your reason for looking terrible is...?"

His response was a frown and Sara gave a single nod, patting him on the left shoulder blade as they entered the building. "Man, that was cold," Sam shook his head a bit, emphasizing the words. "Even for you."

"Love you, too, Birdie."

Sam grumbled at the name, but didn't continue the conversation. By the time he would have opened his mouth it would have been too late to speak. They entered the main room of the warehouse-like building.

Sara all but stopped walking as soon as she saw him. Nick Fury was alive and somewhat well, sitting at a small table with Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff. Natasha's shoulder was being treated for a gun shot wound, while Nick and Maria appeared to be in conversation.

Everything stopped when they entered. Nick turned his head, eyes shifting to Sara. "Sergeant," he greeted, in monotone, with a slow singular nod. Sara only narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms loosely over her chest.

"Director," she replied, a bit of bitterness evident in her voice. "I've got a couple questions, so try to keep up, old man. How long have you known about 'The Winter Soldier'? When were you going to divulge that information to the rest of us? And, finally, why the Devil aren't you dead?"

Nick exhaled a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, leveling his gaze. "I've known about the Soldier for a while. It wasn't something you needed to know. And I'm not dead because I didn't die, simply put."

"You're an-"

"Em," Steve quickly interjected, shooting her a look.

Her blood was almost boiling with anger. But Sara bit her tongue, settling for a steely glare, letting her arms fall to her sides as she took steps toward the table. "I didn't need to know? I didn't need to know, Nick?" she questioned. "Did you know it was Bucky?"

She came to stand just before the front of the table, standing directly across from him now. He remained silent a moment, only watching the emotions flicker across her face, reading each one with precise accuracy.

Sara took a half step forward and brought a balled fist down on the table, just hard enough to make it move in a jolt. "Did you know?" she reiterated, louder, more demanding.

"I had my suspicions," Fury resigned, crossing his fingers in his lap. "But there was no evidence of his identity until yesterday."

"He's been killing people for Hydra like a mindless drone for over fifty years, that we know about, right under your nose, and you expect me to believe you had no idea?" she was almost shouting now, voice full of pure anger.

Steve took a step forward. "Em, stop."

Sara spun on her heel, standing upright to send her glare his way. "Don't you dare. You of all people know what Bucky means to me, Steven," she lowered her voice just barely, but still remained just as angry.

"Of course I know, Sara, that's why I'm telling you to stop," Steve said, more forceful in his demand. Then, more calmly, he added, "Before it gets out of hand again."

"You want me to let it go?" Sara was in disbelief.

"I want you to calm down and back off before someone gets hurt," Steve clarified.

The others in the room watched warily, cautiously. They were all preparing to have to make a quick escape from the room should a super soldier wresting match ensue. Sara's eyes were starting to glisten in the lights from overhead.

"Sara..." Steve was taken aback by the raw emotion to her features. "What happened?"

Sara balled her fingers into fists at her sides, swallowing hard. "They had him in a cage like some animal, Steve. Pierce was there, filling his head with a bunch of Hydra lies. But he...he said he knew me. And then- then they, um..."

She couldn't continue, the urge to sob again was becoming too strong. But she took a few deep breaths, a hand sliding onto her forehead in a nervous gesture. As she finished her story, her voice was mopey, slightly garbled, and made deeper by the lump in her throat.

It was obvious she was teetering on the edge. "There was this machine, and they- they use it to erase his memories. He let them do it, he didn't even fight back," she continued, barely. "I begged Rumlow to make it stop, but...he wouldn't."

Steve's chest felt abnormally constricted, listening to her speak. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, say something to make it right, but he knew nothing he could do would fix what had been done. Silent tears were starting to stream her cheeks as she added one last line, "I will never...get the sound of his scream out of my head."

Natasha dare not look at Sara. Instead she looked down or away, for fear she might show how much she truly did care for the girl. Maria was all but crying as well, Nick emotionlessly sitting beside her. Sam's head hung on his shoulders, slowly shaking as he listened.

It was unimaginable, what her words must feel like inside her. They felt like knives cutting up her bones. Steve's eyes became downcast as his shoulders dropped, a small sigh escaping him. "Then let's make sure Hydra can't hurt anyone else like they've hurt us," he said, lifting his head to look at her once more. "We have to take down those helicarriers."

Sara squared her shoulder, nodding as she swiped the tears from under her eyes with her sleeve. "Yeah...I'm with you," she agreed.

"Not dressed like that," Sam raised an eyebrow.

She frowned at him. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"If we're going to war, we need uniforms," Steve said, standing up a little straighter. "Are you with me, Sergeant?"

Sara raised her hand to her forehead in a salute, her sadness and anger burning into steely resolve, resigning to channel it into the first Hydra agent she would come to. "Ready when you are, Captain."


	17. Chapter Sixteen: As Always

PAST

Sara pursed her lips, adjusting the angle of Howard's bow tie. "Come on, Em- what are you, my mother?" he questioned, eyebrows knitting.

"Well, someone needs to be," she gave a toss of her eyes. "Don't forget your...whatever this is." She placed a rose on his suit jacket. Once finished, she gave one last straightening to his tie before stepping back with a nod.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!"

"That's my cue," Howard gave a small smirk and a wink, twirling his top hat a second before putting it on his head. "You're gonna be watching right?" He'd thrown the words over his shoulder, his rhetorical question barely loud enough to be heard as he dashed toward the stage.

Sara sighed, but answered, "As always!" As soon as he disappeared onto the stage, Sara made her way outside. She was nearly trampled by three shrieking women running by to see the show as she exited. Her only reaction was a tossing of eyes before she, too, started for the show. It was nothing new.

The Stark Expo wasn't something she necessarily enjoyed. Sara only put up with the whole event for Howard's sake. After the sudden passing of her uncle, he'd done a lot to help the small portion of her family in the states. The least she could do, she knew, was help out with various tasks for the Expo.

She arrived at the masses pooled in front of the stage just as Howard was beginning to demonstrate his flying car. Sara had to elbow a bit, but she made it more toward the middle, where she could see.

The red car on stage was elevating slowly until it was fully off the ground by at least a foot, hovering there for a solid few seconds. Then sparks shot from the underside and the car fell to the stage, sending sparks out from each wheel house.

Sara sighed knowingly, letting her shoulders relax. "I did say a few years, didn't I?" Howard quipped, leaning into his podium. The crowd eased their way into applause, and Sara clapped with them.

After the show, Sara met Howard backstage. He gave her a knowing look, aiming an index finger at her as he came off the stage. "Don't you dare say it," he warned.

"You'll get them next time," Sara smiled, closed-mouthed. It was the smile she would give when she knew she was holding in a quip that would hit him where it hurt.

"Yeah, yeah," Howard grumbled. He pulled off his tie with a sigh. "What do you say we call it a night?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me. I have to get to the clinic early in the morning so I should be heading home. Thank you for bringing me along, though."

"Please, Em. You're like family."

Sara smiled. "I'll meet you at the air field?"

"Wait- come on," Howard opened his arms. "Bring it in."

"I am not touching you until you're happily married," Sara declined, taking a step back. She gave a somewhat apologetic expression before walking toward the exit.

Howard called after her, "But I just said we were like family!"

"Incest is real, Howard!"

Sara sighed as she zipped into the line of traffic, following the flow of the pedestrian river in the direction she needed. It wasn't too busy, no busier than her own town. But it did feel a little overcrowded being in such a big city.

She cut left for an open patch of pavement, speeding her way out of the clustered masses. As she arrived, something knocked into the left side of her front, pushing her off balance. It took a shuffling step but she caught herself.

Unfortunately, the man that bumped into her lay on his back on the ground, his papers sprawled around him. Sara instantly felt a pang of guilt, and she hurried to offer him a hand. "I am so sorry," she quickly apologized. "I completely missed seeing you there."

"No, it's alright. It's my fault," he shook his head, taking her outstretched hand.

She helped him up, and it was obvious to her then why it was so easy to knock him over. The poor man was several inches shorter than her, thin and scrawny in frame. A strong gust of wind, Sara guessed, might just have done the same thing.

Never the less, Sara crouched to pick up some of the lost papers, just as he was bending to do the same. "Really, it was me- I'm so sorry-" Sara tried again.

"It's nothing, Miss...?" he paused, looking up at her with a raised brow.

She paused as well, smiling a little as she held out her hand, the one not holding a wad of dirtied papers. "Davidovsky. Sara Davidovsky."

"Steve Rogers," he shook her hand, returning the smile.

There was a second's pause. The moment of eye contact lingering on a moment, before Sara pulled back her hand and continued picking up papers. Steve did as well, inwardly kicking himself for staring.

He knew she was probably thinking he was a creep now. Or at the very least that he was obviously very socially awkward. It only took a moment more of picking up before they had all of them, and they stood. Sara handed him the ones she collected, and he thanked her.

"It was very nice meeting you, Steve," she smiled, closed-mouthed, with a singular nod.

"It was nice meeting you, too," he smiled back, though he felt a little sick from his nerves.

He'd wanted to say more, he'd wanted to keep talking to her. But she had turned and was gone before he could bat an eyelash. He supposed it was just one of those rare things, one of those moments that reminded him of what he'd never have.


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Helicarrier (Pt 1)

PRESENT

"I feel childish," she'd whispered, as they'd crept into the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. Sara walked light on her feet just a stride behind and to the side of Steve, who was leading this expedition.

Steve sighed. "Let's just get what we came for and get out before anyone notices."

Sara had briefly wondered what they would've done how someone spotted them. Would they kill them, like S.H.I.E.L.D. agents sometimes do? Would they find another way of silencing them? She pondered this even now as she, Steve, Sam, and Maria walked toward the river.

She adjusted the quiver against her back. It fit oddly against her jacket. Though, it wasn't truly hers. It was Bucky's. Steve wasn't the only one at the exhibit to steal an outfit. Sara took nothing other than the jacket off the mannequin, and it was the only thing she didn't feel bad about during that trip.

The museum didn't deserve it. They didn't deserve anything that belonged to Bucky. No one did. Fury had kept a bow there with him while he recovered, 'just waiting for her to need it' as he'd said. She didn't want it, but he was right in the fact that she would need it. So she took it. It rested against her back now, with her quiver.

The four of them made it to the D.C. S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, also know as The Triskelion. By now, Natasha was already inside, getting into position as her cover, Councilwoman Hawley. Sam, Steve, and Sara waited behind the door to communications with Maria Hill, who used a S.H.I.E.L.D. device to momentarily buzz the channels.

As planned, a moment later, a S.H.I.E.L.D. technician opened the locked door, freezing upon seeing Sam's and Maria's guns on him. His name tag read 'Moore'. "Excuse us," Steve said, stepping forward.

Moore stepped back, hands risen in surrender, making way for them to enter. The other technicians and guards didn't seem to want to cause any kind of fight, giving up before they'd even been told to surrender.

They got to the communications controls and Maria took the helm, sliding herself into the first available office chair. It only took her a moment to get the line hot. "This is broadcasting to all corners of the building," she said, over her shoulder. "They can hear whatever you say...now."

"Attention all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, this is Sara Riley," Sara stood beside Maria's chair, leveling her eyes on the wall across the room. "Most of you don't know who I am, or why me being here is important. I know some of you believe I exist and, to you, I say mazel tov. You were right. But I'm not here to talk about me, I'm here to talk about you. All of you listening right now. You deserve to know the truth."

Sara glanced left, over her shoulder. Steve was listening intently. He gave a singular nod, a gesture to let her know it was okay to keep going, that she was saying the right things. She took a deep breath and moved her eyes back to the wall.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has been taken over by Hydra. Alexander Pierce...is their leader. The S.T.R.I.K.E. and Insight teams are Hydra. We don't know how many more," she continued. "But they're in the building, and they could be standing right next to you. They shot Nick Fury. Insight will give Hydra more power than it already has- the power to kill anyone in their path, anyone trying to stop them."

She leaned forward onto the desk on her fisted knuckles, exhaling. She lifted her head and finished, "You don't know me, and I don't know you. You don't owe me anything. But you owe it to yourselves to fight back. Freedom is a price I have paid with not just my life, but my family's. I gave my life to this country once and I am willing to make that sacrifice again. The question you need to ask yourselves is, am I wiling to stand by and watch as Hydra kills millions of innocents...or am I going to stand up and do something about it?"

Sara took a step back and Maria cut the microphone. Sara took a deep breath to calm herself, before turning around to face Sam and Steve. Sam was smirking like a crazed lunatic. "That's my girl," he was nodding, holding up his hand. "Come on, put it right there."

She rolled her eyes, but Sara allowed herself a small smile as she clapped his raised hand with her own. "We need to get moving," Steve said, before walking toward the exit. "Let's go."

"Aye aye, Captain," Sam nodded, following closely behind.

"Hey, Riley?" Maria called, as Sara began to follow. Sara stopped, turning halfway to see Agent Hill. Hill nodded once, finishing, "Go get 'em."

Sara returned the singular nod, then turned and jogged after the other men. As they made it outside the building, sprinting for the landing pad, Maria's voice came over the earpieces. "They're initiating launch," she said.

"Hey, Cap. How do we know the good guys from the bad guys?" Sam asked.

"If they're shooting at you, they're bad," Steve replied.

The helicarriers were rising quickly from the open bays just ahead. Sam spread his metallic wings and leapt into the air as they reached the edge of the first bay. Steve jumped off, landing on his feet on the helicarrier below.

Sara followed suit, jumping off. Her landing was on her feet but she vaulted into a somersault to lessen the pressure on her knees. Three rolls and she was up, running. Steve used his shield to protect against the agents firing at them, vaulting himself over a large crate in a flip.

He dove behind another crate, running right into an agent. He slammed his fist into the agent's face, slammed him back against the crate behind him, then snatched the grenade off his shoulder before letting him drop. Steve pulled the pin, then threw the grenade at the agents a few crates away. The explosion crippled any immediate agents firing at them.

Sam was flying up above, toward another helicarrier. Cannons suddenly began blasting at him, and he spun and dove to miss being shot out of the sky. "Whoa, Cap. I found those bad guys you were talking about!" he said.

His voice carried over the coms, coming into Sara's ear piece. She fired two arrows simultaneously, taking down the two agents firing at her. "Are you alright?" she asked, loading in another arrow, rounding the corner of her crate perch.

"Well, I'm not dead yet," he replied, as though that were supposed to be reassuring.

Sara rolled her eyes, and ran to catch up to Steve, a few crates ahead of her. She vaulted over the top of one, landing feet first on the other side, and slammed her back against the crate shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve.

He looked to her, mostly just checking for injuries. But he knew she was up to something, her wheels visibly turning. "Give me a chip!" she shouted over the noise.

"What are you gonna do?" he questioned, digging in his belt for a chip without hesitation. He held it out to her, and her fingers encircled it, but he didn't let go.

Sara exhaled. "I'm going to buy us some time, kill two birds with one stone."

"I heard that," Sam grumbled, over their ear pieces.

"Be careful," Steve nodded, ignoring Sam's words.

Sara returned the nod before lurching into a sprint for the edge of the helicarrier. "Hey, Birdie! Feel like giving me a lift?" she asked, strapping her bow to her back.

"On it."

She made it to the edge, and she jumped. Sara was airborne for about three seconds before arms encircled her middle and she was lurched upward, clinging to Sam's gray suit. She held onto him like a sloth from a branch.

Sam dove to miss a spray of bullets from one of the helicarriers' guns, causing Sara to give a small squeak as she clung tighter to Sam's suit. "You guys okay?" Steve's voice echoed in their ears, the speakers carrying every ounce of concern.

"Eight minutes, guys," Maria reminded suddenly.

"We're good!" Sam and Sara spoke in almost perfect unison.

They made it to another helicarrier but Sam was going too fast to miss the bullets to be able to land. So Sara ejected, so to speak. He flew over the landing strip on top of the helicarrier and Sara timed it, letting go at just the right moment to land in a roll.

She rolled a few feet, the momentum allowing her to quickly spring to her feet in an almost immediate sprint. "I'm on helicarrier two, almost to control panel," she said, bursting through a door into the helicarrier. "Cap, what's your status?"

"Working on it!" he replied, grunting as he slammed an agent with his shield. He fought his way to the door, pushing through a second after Sara has made it through hers.

Sara made it to the metal bridge leading across to the center of the helicarrier's underbelly, where it housed its control chips. She hurried across, refraining from looking down, and punched the code into the keypad at the panel.

It hissed as it slid open, readjusting itself to lower down the chips. She took out the proper chip and replaced it with the one Steve had given her. Her finger pressed the key to return the chips and the glass hissed closed.

"Bravo lock," Sara said, into her ear piece, breaking into a jog back across the metal bridge.

"Two down, one to go," Maria confirmed. "Charlie carrier is forty degrees off the port bow. Six minutes."

"Sam?" Sara called, gripping the edge of the bridge. "You got a minute?"

He replied, smoothly, "For you? Always."

A smile came to her lips just as she thrusted her lower half over the bars, letting go to drop below the line of the helicarrier's walls. As soon as she was at the right position, Sam swooped low enough to grab her, zipping back up toward the third helicarrier.

"Hey, Sam! I'm gonna need a ride!" Steve suddenly said, over the ear pieces.

"Sure, let me know when you need it," Sam replied.

"I just did!" Steve said, as he jumped off the side of his helicarrier.

Sam dropped Sara onto the landing strip of the third helicarrier and was immediately flying for Steve's position. He caught Steve's arm, reversing his propulsion, groaning into it as he shot back up into the sky with a little extra thrust.

They soared through the air back to the third helicarrier, landing on their feet just yards from Sara. Sam tucked in his wings. "You know, you're heavier than you look," he commented, walking behind Steve.

Steve's excuse was, "I had a big breakfast."

Sam and Steve hurried to join Sara's side, but they were cut off when The Winter Soldier came out of nowhere, tackling Steve so hard the man flew off the side of the helicarrier. "Steve!" Sam shouted, ejecting his wings, preparing to jump after him.

The Winter Soldier gripped one of the wings as Sam jumped, stopping him. Then he thrusted Sam backward onto the helicarrier. Sam pulled out his guns and fired a barrage of bullets. The Winter Soldier dove behind a water tank for cover.

The Winter Soldier turned around the opposite side of the water tank to see. A sudden sound caught his attention and he whirled the other way, just in time to get a hard kick to the side from Sara's boots, shoving him away serval yards.

He landed on the ground in a pile of his own limbs, and Sara pulled her bow from her back, loading it with an arrow as she took steps toward him. The Winter Soldier began pushing himself up, sending a sharp glare at her as she approached.

She remained a short distance out of reach, aiming her arrow for his chest. "Please don't make me shoot you with this," she said, giving a shake of her head.

His response was a growl as he launched to his feet. Sara took quick steps backward and fired the arrow. He deflected with his metal appendage easily, continuing his march for her, and she sent more arrows his way.

He was on her in a second, swinging his metal fist at head level, causing her to duck quickly to miss it. The fist went right over her head but her bow clattered to the ground as he grabbed her wrist and twisted, pulling her arm backward and pinning it with his elbow.

She cried out, his strength too much to push back. The Winter Soldier aimed and shot a device at Sam as he began to flew off the side of the helicarrier with his free hand, sending out a metal wire that attached to one of Sam's wings.

The Winter Soldier pulled, and the wing snapped off. Sam plummeted as an intense speed toward the building below. Sara groaned as she pulled hard, using her strength to twist herself free from his hold. Her anger clouded any other emotions toward him in that moment.

Her fist collided with his face, then she gave a solid kick to his abdomen, sending him flying back a few feet. Steve's and Sam's voices came through over her ear piece and a part of her was relieved to find they were both alright, but she could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation.

As soon as The Winter Soldier was up, he was coming for her, but she was already half way across the landing strip. She was sprinting into the ship and down to the control panel. She took an alternate route, taking the stairs on the opposite side of the ship, and she lost him.

* * *

Steve arrived at the bridge. The Winter Soldier was there, waiting, standing in front of the control panel. Steve came to a stop halfway across the bridge. "People are gonna die, Buck," he said. "I can't let that happen."

Sara trotted down the steps, taking them two at a time, and came to a halt at the bottom. Her eyes locked on the scene before her taking place on the bridge. Steve exhaled. "Please don't make me do this," he pleaded.

The Winter Soldier remained stoic, feet dug in. He was making it clear he wouldn't go down without a fight with his demeanor. Sara pulled an arrow from her quiver and loaded it into her bow, drawing it back to aim at the soldier.

Steve drew back his arm and launched his shield. The Winter Soldier deflected with his metal arm and Steve caught the shield, hoisting it up and down to block the bullets spraying at him from The Winter Soldier's pistol.

One shot sliced Steve's left side, causing him to step back. That's when Sara fired. The Winter Soldier ducked, missing the sharp tip to his temple by a fraction of an inch, and Sara fired again, taking quick steps across the bridge.

He deflected each one, simultaneously taking shots at Steve's shield. Sara got close enough to Steve's back and slung her bow across her shoulders, unsheathing the knife at her hip, and vaulted over Steve's shoulders.

Sara rolled the knife in her fingers as she ducked as metal fist, coming back up with the blade first, swinging right across face-level. He bent backward to miss, stepping back. She twisted and swung it again, moving in a ruthless pattern that kept his shuffling back toward the control panel.

Steve dove around Sara as a hit to the metal arm with her knife caused The Winter Soldier to be shoved to the right, making room. Steve quickly typed in the code on the panel. The glass hissed as it moved into place to drop down the chips.

The Winter Soldier hiked up a leg and kicked out, forcing Sara's back into the railing a few feet behind her. She slammed into the metal and it gauged at her back, but she immediately pushed off, gritting her teeth, and lunged again.

He held up his metal arm, and her blade dug into it. They pressed into each other in a brief stalemate, both trying to out-strength the other, Sara's feet skidding on the metal flooring until her back hit the railing behind her.

The knife came free, slicing across his right cheek bone, leaving a thin red line behind. He jerked to the left from the momentary force, and Sara used that chance to smack the side of his head with the butt of the knife handle, hiking up a leg and kicking him off her.

His back slammed into the side of the control panel, and his eyes were daggers boring into her with an inferno level heat. The Winter Soldier lunged forward, ramming into her middle, forcing them both backward over the side of the railing.

Steve whirled, eyes widened in shock, gasping, "Em!"

They slammed into the level below, skidding along the slope toward the drop off into nothingness. The Winter Soldier drew back his metal arm, balling the fingers into a fist. Sara's eyes snapped wide and she dove right just as the fist came down.

The metal where her head used to be cratered in under the pressure of his fist. Steve ran to the railing above, watching in horror as the two struggled below. He made a split second decision to throw himself over as well, forgetting the mission long enough to help his friend.

He couldn't stand it, watching them tear each other apart, especially when he knew what they used to be. Friends, lovers- it didn't matter. Either way, all three of them once were on the same side and he needed it to be that way again.

Steve launched himself over the railing. He came down with his shield, The Winter Soldier twisting just in time to block it with his metal arm. Steve tackled The Winter Soldier to the right, off of Sara, slamming him down a few feet away.

Sara sat up with a groan of displeasure for the pain in her neck and shoulders from the fall. But she was up in a second, just in time to see Steve throw his shield into The Winter Soldier. The soldier fell off the side of the small landing and Steve quickly jumped off after him.

Sighing heavily, Sara hopped into a jog and leapt off the side. She landed on her feet on the thick glass below, just yards behind The Winter Soldier, who had Steve's shield. Steve was running to grab the chip he'd dropped far ahead.

The soldier threw the shield, hitting Steve in the side, then pulled out his knife as he approached him. Steve grabbed the soldier's wrist to stop the knife but an extra jolt of strength forced it into his shoulder. Steve cried out and rammed his forehead into The Winter Soldier's.

The Winter Soldier stepped back before shoving Steve to the side, causing him to ram into a four foot tall metal divider beam. Sara ran foreword for the chip, resting on the glass, and she dove for it as the soldier did.

The two collided on the floor, sending fists and kicks at each other to force the other to let go. It was reminiscent of two children fighting over their favorite toy. Steve pushed himself to his feet and hurried over.

Steve grabbed The Winter Soldier's neck and lifted him up, off of Sara again, and the soldier let out a strangled gag. Steve slammed him down on the glass, hard. He twisted back the soldier's arm, pressing a palm against the side of his face, trying to force him to drop the chip in his hand.

The Winter Soldier wouldn't let go. "Drop it," Steve said. "Drop it!" The soldier reached back his metal arm, but it was too short to grab any part of the man holding onto him. Steve pushed with a slight twist, eliciting a loud crunching pop.

The soldier cried out and every muscle in Sara's body became rigid. She sat on her knees, bow ready to draw, but she couldn't move. That sound echoing in her ears just once was enough to completely immobilize her. All she could see was Bucky. Her Bucky. Not this brainwashed, murderous version of him.

Steve changed positions to flop onto his back, his arms locked around The Winter Soldier's neck, pinning down the metal arm. For a moment, they still struggled. But as soon as the soldier's eyes fell closed, Steve let him go, grabbing the chip off the glass.

"Em! Come on, get up," he urged, hurrying to her side. He grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet, though her eyes were vacant, almost glossy. "Sara! Let's go!"

He practically dragged her with him closer to the landing above. They leapt up and climbed onto it, running for the top. Though, Sara's mind wasn't in it. It was all instinctual, her body feeding off his actions to tell her mind what to do, without her true comprehension of it all.

A gun shot echoed out and Steve dropped to one knee, a hole now in the back of his left thigh. "Steve!" Sara came back a bit at that, quickly grabbing his arm and pulling him away.

He scrambled to his feet and hobbled on, but Sara stayed behind, dropping to one knee for a better vantage as she loaded her bow. She sent a barrage of arrows at the soldier to distract him as Steve began climbing up to the bridge.

Maria's voice came over the ear piece then, "One minute!"


	19. Chapter Eighteen: You're Next

PAST

Howard was doing something with the control panel in front of him and, even though Sara had no inclination of what any of it meant, Sara assumed it was something important, as she stood a few feet to his right.

It'd been bothering her the whole way in this morning. It nagged at her, kept her curiosity peaked. Finally she decided to lean toward him and ask, "Why am I here? You still haven't told me."

He was focused on whatever it was he was calculating at the moment, but he paused to glance at her while he answered. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he shook his head. "Just give it one more minute, I'm sure he'll-"

"Mr. Stark," an older man in a lab coat adjusted his glasses, as he stepped over to them just then. "How are the instruments this morning?"

His accent felt familiar to Sara. It only took her a moment to realize what it was. Howard stood up straighter, nodding once as he spoke. "Everything looks good," he answered. "Doctor, this is Sara Davidovsky, the woman I've been telling you about."

The man in the white coat's eyes shifted to her face then, an eyebrow slowly lifting. "Miss Davidovsky, it's great to finally meet you. My name is Dr. Abraham Erskine," he held out a hand.

"Nice to meet you," Sara shook his hand. "Are you German? I'm sorry to be so forward, but your accent- it's lovely."

"Thank you. Yes, indeed, I am from Germany," he nodded, the corners of his mouth curved upward in a small smile as he retracted his hand. "I hear you are from there as well?"

"I am, Weimer," Sara nodded.

"Well, if all goes as planed, you are in for a treat today, Miss Davidovsky. Excuse me."

Dr. Erskine stepped away, moving to speak with other men in white coats. Not a moment passed before all were silent, heads snapping up to look at the entrance to the room. Sara's eyebrows creased and she tipped her head back to see.

A thin man in an army uniform was making his way down the stairs with Agent Carter. Sara met her yesterday. But this new man she had not seen. Of course, looking upward, she couldn't get a good enough look at his face to tell for sure.

That is, until he reached the bottom. Then her eyes were stuck in a slightly rounded position as she stared. Howard's eyebrows furrowed as he slid hands in his pockets, glancing over at her. "What? Didn't think they came that small?" he teased.

"No, I met him. Just after the expo," Sara corrected, looking to Howard.

"Sara?"

Sara's head snapped left at the sound her name. Steve Rogers was looking right at her, seeming slightly bewildered by her presence. He took low steps toward her. "What are you doing here?" he inquired, curiously.

"Assisting Mr. Stark," Sara answered, for that was the only reason she knew.

Howard had gone back to fiddling with the control board. But Sara stepped around him to meet Steve half way. "I didn't know you knew Howard Stark," Steve seemed surprised.

Sara smiled a little. "He's kind of a friend of the family. I didn't know you were going to be a super soldier. I'm happy for you. You're going to save a lot of lives."

Steve smiled back, a bubble of confidence rising in his chest at her words. "Thanks."

"Good morning," Dr. Erskine greeted, walking over to them. He shook hands with Steve, just as a white flash nearly blinded all three of them. "Please, not now." The photographer to Erskine's left quickly stepped away.

"Good luck, Steve," Sara said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before hurrying back to Howard. Steve did as told by Dr. Erskine and took off his hat, tie, and shirt, then climbed onto the large bed of the machine in the center of the room.

The overall machine was quite large for such a small man, but the extra space would be necessary for the desired outcome. "Mr. Stark, how are your levels?" Dr. Erskine called.

Howard left Sara at the panel to walk up to the machine beside the doctor. "At one-hundred percent," he answered. "We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn."

"Are we ready?" Erskine asked.

"As we'll ever be," Howard sighed, before walking back to Sara.

Not a second passed before Agent Carter came to Sara and Howard. "Sara, why don't we head up to the box?" she suggested.

Sara looked to Howard, who only nodded and hurried her along, then she followed Agent Carter up the stairs to the box viewing room. Dr. Erskine explained a bit about the procedure, but she missed half of it by the time she sat down.

"Serum infusion beginning in," Dr. Erskine's voice came through the speakers inside the viewing room. "Five, four, three, two, one."

The scientists pushed their levers and the blue liquid in the vials on either side of Steve drained into his veins. Once they were empty, Dr. Erskine turned to Howard. "Now, Mr. Stark," he said.

Howard nodded, then pushed his lever. The machine then began to rise, standing up, as its three pieces came together to close the machine around Steve. Sara couldn't help feeling a little nervous in the viewing room, sitting next to Agent Carter.

Stark slowly turned a wheel on the panel in front of him, announcing his progress in percentage. The higher he went, the brighter the burst of light from inside the machine. As he reached seventy, a loud scream sounded from inside.

Agent Carter shot up from her seat, running out to the stairs, shouting at the men below to shut it down. Sara sat forward in her seat, her elbows rested atop her knees, her lips against her interlocked fingers nervously.

Dr. Erskine called for them to shut it off, but Steve shouted from inside, "No! Don't! I can do this!"

Howard turned the wheel to one hundred percent. Sara couldn't look directly at the machine, the brightness of the light was too great. All of the lights and instruments around the circular room began to spark.

The lights whirred once before everything shut off, the light from inside the machine quickly dimming to nothingness. Sara couldn't take it anymore. She got up from her seat and came outside to stand by Agent Carter at the top of the stairs.

"Mr. Stark!" Erskine called.

Howard hit a button on his panel, and the doors to the machine hissed opened, revealing an overly muscular and sweat ridden Steve Rogers. Dr. Erskine and Stark hurried to help Steve out of the machine, and Sara dashed down the stairs.

Both Erskine and Stark were amazing it worked. They were only a few feet from the machine when Sara reached them. "Well, that was quite the roller coaster," she said, sounding out of breath. Then she smiled up at Steve. "How can you breathe? Isn't the air too thin up there?"

Though he was immensely out of breath, his chest heaving, Steve managed to a small chuckle. "It's actually not that bad," he exhaled.

"Just think, Em," Howard smirked, giving a quick wink of his eye. "You're next."


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Helicarrier (Pt 2)

PRESENT

"Thirty seconds, guys!" Maria urged, over the earpieces.

Steve had managed to get to the bridge level, leaning heavily into the railing to shuffle to the control panel. "Stand by," Steve replied, breathing a bit labored.

Sara continued an offensive, but she was down to only three arrows. She dropped to the flooring completely, pressing her back into it, to miss getting shot as The Winter Soldier fired back at her. Then a shot rang out, and Steve grunted, the sound followed by a thud.

Sara immediately twisted to look up through the grated metal. Steve was down, a hand pressed to his abdomen, near the center. He'd been shot. "Steve!" Sara practically shrieked, her voice shaking.

"I'm okay! I'm- I'm okay!" he called back to her, the words mumbled a bit as he strained to get back up.

A wave of anger crashed over Sara. She yanked an arrow free from her quiver, drew it back in her bow as she sat up, locking in on The Winter Soldier in a matter of milliseconds. She loosed the arrow and it lodged itself in his right shoulder. The human shoulder, she knew.

The Winter Soldier cried out, almost dropping to a knee. But he only gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow out, throwing it to the ground. "Charlie lock," Steve exhaled, just as he placed the chip into its slot.

"Okay, guys, get out of there," Maria said.

Steve called, "Em! Your call!"

"Fire now," Sara made the final decision. "Do it, Hill!"

She quickly slung her bow across her back and bolted, climbing up her way to the bridge level. As soon as she pulled herself over the edge she was at Steve's side, pulling his arm around her neck, hefting him to his feet.

Missiles broke through the helicarrier then. The whole vessel shook violently, flinging Sara and Steve into a side rail as it lurched to one side from the many hits. There was a loud crash, a shriek of metal, followed by a scream.

The super soldiers peered over the edge of the railing at the thick glass floor below. The Winter Soldier was on his back, pinned down by a large structure of fallen support beams. The air left Sara's lungs, her voice catching in her throat.

"Go," Steve heaved, pulling himself free from her to grip the railing. "Go get him."

She looked to him then, really looked at him. He was dead serious, breathing heavily from his wounds, his voice certain. He knew her. He knew her better than anyone else on this planet. He knew exactly what she was thinking, what her heart was telling her to do.

Sara didn't want to leave Steve there, not like that. But Steve nodded, reiterating, "Go." She gripped the railing and hoisted herself over, dropping to the landing below. Then she ran and leapt off of that as well, falling onto the glass.

The Winter Soldier pushed against his restraints with all his strength, writhing beneath them with shouts of frustration. Sara ran to him. More specifically, to the beams on top of him. The Winter Soldier saw her coming and pushed harder against the beams, angered that he could not yet kill her.

"Stop being a mindless drone for five seconds, will you!" Sara shouted over the hum of the falling helicarrier, as she gripped at the largest part of the beam, a few feet beside him.

He groaned, writhing beneath it. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

She pulled, giving it a large sum of her remaining strength. The beam hoisted up a few inches before she had to drop it. Breathing heavily now, she shouted at him, "Listen to me, soldier! I'm not leaving you here- do you understand me? Push!"

He was greatly perplexed by this. Why would she help him kill her? It made absolutely no sense. No one in their sane mind would do this. But, then again, he wasn't the best judge of that. "You're insane!" he shouted at her.

"I know!" she shouted back.

Sara pulled again, adding in more strength than before. The soldier pushed as she did, lifting the beam high enough for him to wriggle free, and Sara dropped it as soon as he was out. She exhaled a heavy breath, stepping back.

The Winter Soldier held his right arm tightly to his middle, using his metal arm to help get him to his feet. "Bucky..." Sara said, causing his eyes to shift toward her face uncertainly. "You know who I am- you know you know me."

"No, I don't!" he shouted, swinging his metal arm.

Sara bent back, shuffling backward to miss it. "Just try, Bucky!"

"No!" he swung again.

"Em!" Steve hollered. He gave a thrust of his shield and Sara turned just in time to catch it, twist, and block a hard hit from the metal fist.

She lowered the shield. "I'm Sara- Sara Riley! Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You're from Brooklyn, New York. We met in Azzano when you were a Hydra prisoner of war."

"Shut up!"

He swung hard enough, hit the shield hard enough, that Sara fell back onto her butt with a muffled squeak of a sound, the shield clattering out of her hands. She stared at him with widened, yet saddened eyes. "I'm not fighting you, Bucky," she quickly shook her head, clambering to her feet.

"I told you to stay out of my way," he heaved, nothing but rage in his expression, causing her to take a step back. "You should have listened!"

He charged, grabbing fistfuls of her jacket collar and pushing, slamming her back onto the hard ground. Fist after fist was sent into face. Yet still, she didn't try to stop him. He wound back his arm, poised to hit her hard enough to end it, but he became rigid from the sound of her next words.

"It's okay- it's okay...it's perfect," she said, her head swirling a bit as her eyes began to sting with hot tears. "I'm in the arms of my first love. The first person I've ever loved. Do it- it's okay. It's okay, Bucky."

The Winter Soldier remained still. His eyes were rounded, searching hers for something he didn't quite understand just yet. But it was there, he could feel it. It pulled at his bones. "Sara!" Steve's voice came from the right, as he stumbled on as best he could, but fell to the glass floor several feet away.

A large beam broke loose, falling, breaking right through the glass they stood on. Sara felt it as the floor gave way from beneath her back and her weight began to drop rapidly. But her arm jerked her body to a stop before she could fall.

Sara's head snapped up with wide eyes. The Winter Soldier held onto a remaining beam above with his metal arm, gripping onto Sara with his flesh one. Steve was less fortunate. He fell through with the broken glass, plummeting into the Potomac River.

Sara gasped as she watched him fall, squeezing her eyes shut before he hit the water. The water rolling off her chin burned as she looked up to The Winter Soldier. "Let me go!" Sara shouted to be heard over the whirring of the dying helicarrier.

He didn't object, but he didn't agree either, not for a moment. But something resigned across his features and he loosened his grip on her. "Hold your breath," was all he said, before letting her go completely. And she fell.

Her legs broke through the water first, sending a shockwave of prickling needles up her entire body. She sank for a moment in the quiet nothingness. The helicarrier crashed into the water not far from her, but still it was silent.

Sara felt like just floating there, letting it take her. Her chest ached. But she could not tell if the lack of air was getting to her or if this was how letting go of someone you love was meant to feel. It was most likely a mixture of both. The urge to breathe in was bringing a searing pain to her lower throat, but she couldn't bring herself to swim.

Then she felt it. Something grabbed her shoulder, grabbing the extra fabric of her jacket pooled there, and that something pulled her upward. Her head broke the surface with a final jerk on her jacket, and she sucked in a breath.

Her eyes immediately settled on crystal blue irises inches from her. It was Bucky. He didn't say a word, only wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her to the left, using his metal arm to swim with. She was in shock. He was an imagination. These were things she was sure of.

Despite her disbelief, her arms rounded his neck and shoulders, clinging to him as the life raft bringing her to shore. She was on her back in the water as he pulled them along, her lips flush against the soaked leather of his right shoulder. She thoughts maybe, just maybe, if she held on tight enough he would become real.

It didn't take long to get them to the shore of the river. As the water became shallow enough, he stood, thus pulling her up with him. Reluctantly, she peeled herself from him to walk on her own. Her eyes moved to the river bank, and she saw him.

Steve lay on his back, seemingly unconscious, unmoving on the dirt. "Steve!" she shouted, before breaking into the fastest movement she could manage in the water. She dropped to her knees beside his body, her chest constricting. "Steve! Can you hear me? Hey- wake up!"

Sara gave a shake to his shoulders. Steve coughed suddenly, spewing up a spurt of river water, and Sara dropped her forehead to his chest on a relieved exhale. There would be no way to handle losing two of the men she loved in one day. Thankfully, she didn't have to.

That thought brought her head snapping up, eyes quickly searching. Where was Bucky? Her eyes moved over the water, across the trees, and they stopped on a black figure growing smaller by the second on the bank. It was him. He was leaving her once again.

Sara's chest felt as though it were full of lead. Taking a deep breath to keep the water in her eyes where it belonged, she pulled one of Steve's arms over her shoulder and hefted his body up.

* * *

She fought to keep from dozing off, sitting in that plastic hospital chair, her ears filled with the soft beeping from the machines. That, and the sound of Marvin Gay playing on Sam's iPod, mounted on the tray at the end of Steve's bed.

Steve had been unconscious all night. That didn't stop Sara from staying awake, though, nor did it stop Sam. Sam sat in a chair against the wall by the door, directly across from Sara, next to the bed. She lolled her head on her shoulders to see Steve.

It was just before sunrise, the sky lighting up blue outside the partially curtained window. Sara glanced to Sam. He was completely out, slumped to the side of his chair, ridiculously close to falling right out onto the floor. It was humorous, his position.

A small chuckled huffed its way out of Sara as she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. Passing the time was difficult. After a while, Sam eventually came to, and went to the second floor cafeteria for coffee. He returned twenty minutes later with two steaming to-go cups.

The caffeine helped a little, but it was still difficult. She would tap her heels, readjust her position, try to find a way to close her eyes for a moment. Though, her eyes would only spring back open. Now it was just after nine AM.

Sam somehow easily dozed off again, and Sara could only stare with envy, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Sleeping under stressful or anxious circumstances was never her strong suit. "Em?" Steve suddenly asked for her, his voice incredibly small as he was just coming around.

Sara instantly was sitting upright, turning to see him. Steve's eyelids cracked open, head turning slightly toward her. "I'm here," Sara assured, her voice soft, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

"You okay?" he asked, voice cracking.

She nodded a little, as his eyes shifted up to meet hers. "I'm okay. Are you okay? You've been out for quite a while."

"How long?"

"All night," Sara answered. She reached up a hand, gently brushing her fingertips across the bits of his hair ruffled at an odd angle, in an attempt to fix them. "Sam's here, too. Sleeping again. But you could probably already tell, just by his abnormally loud snoring."

Steve chuckled a little at that, before his eyebrows knitted, his ears being flooded with a melodic sound. "What's that noise?"

"Marvin Gay," Sara twisted and leaned to the end of the bed, reaching a around the tray to press stop on the playlist, before returning to her original position. "It was Sam's idea."

Steve smiled. "The Trouble Man soundtrack?"

"The one and only," Sara smiled back, just a little.

A bout of silence settled in between them, filling the room with nothing but the electronic beeping of the machines once more. Finally, Sara sighed, eyes moving to her fidgeting hands in her lap. "I thought I'd lost you for a minute," she admitted, quietly.

"You could never lose me, Em," Steve gave a small shake of his head. She corkscrewed her lips to one side in an expression as she nodded a little. Steve reached up, sliding a hand onto her cheek, lifting her face to force her to acknowledge his words. "You will never lose me."

"Please, just...don't. The last time I heard words like that, the next morning the man I loved fell off a train," she pleaded, eyes red at the edges, water visible in them now.

It felt like a brick had been thrown into Steve's ribs. He didn't know what to say. He'd never known what to say to her in times like this. "But we survived, didn't we? We survived then...we'll survive now," he said, forcing a sense of certainty into his tone.

Surviving wasn't something Sara enjoyed much anymore. But she forced her lips to break into a smile, the brightest she could manage in this situation. Uncertain of what else to do, her hands covered his cheeks as she leaned in, pressing a small kiss to his lips.

Steve tried to keep her there, keep her close to him. But she was pulling away the moment Sam spoke behind them. "Come on, guys. It is too early in the morning for y'all to be sucking each other's faces off," he said, sounding disgusted.

Sara dried her under eyes with her sleeve and slid off the bed, a bit of a chuckle escaping her. "Don't worry," she said, pulling on her jacket before sitting back down in her chair. "My face is just where I left it. But, thank you, for the concern."

"I don't buy it. The second I turn around, you'll be making out in the corner or something," Sam wrinkled his nose, standing from his chair to stretch his tired limbs.

Steve all but rolled his eyes, but he smiled none of the less. "Find someone you care about and then come talk to us about keeping personal space."

* * *

It wasn't long before Steve was released from the hospital, and he could go back to his apartment. Of course, it was badly damaged. But t was nothing he and Sara couldn't fix. Walking in the front door, Sara shrugged of her jacket and went into the kitchen. "I'm going to make some coffee," she said, over her shoulder. "Want some?"

"Sure, thanks," Steve replied, shuffling into the living room to survey the damage to the wall and window. Three large holes remained in the drywall from The Winter Soldier's bullets. It only brought back images. Images of his best friend filled his mind.

Steve didn't know when, but he'd started to feel a density to his chest that was slightly sickening, feeling it only when he thought of his lost friend. It didn't only occur then, though. He felt it when he thought of Sara now, too.

Sara poured the steaming hot liquid into two mugs from the cupboard, then carried them to the living room. She, too, saw the damage but it didn't trigger as many memories as it had for Steve. To Sara, it was just a broken wall. She'd shut out those memories.

She held out a mug to Steve and he took it, and she immediately went to the bedroom, disappearing down the hall. Steve loosed a heavy sigh. It was too quiet. The apartment was completely silent. Maybe a car horn would sound, or a rev of an engine, but otherwise there was no noise inside or outside the walls.

He wanted to say something, to talk to Sara somehow. But when he tried to gather an intelligent start to a conversation, it only sounded borderline disastrous. So he kept his mouth shut and lowered himself to sit on the couch.

Sara didn't say much over the next three weeks, nor did she go to Fury's 'funeral' at the cemetery. Natasha had warned Sara about what would happen with dumping all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets onto the internet. She'd said the world would know. The world would see what Sara Riley had done, that she existed, and her life would never be the same.

She didn't think she was being that serious, given the melodramatic phrasing of Natasha's words. But Sara knew it was legitimate the moment she received a phone call from Sam, telling her to turn on the television. "What's going on?" she questioned, pattering into the living room on her sock-covered feet.

"Just turn it on," he insisted. "Channel nine."

Sara opened Steve's laptop and brought up the web page for the news channel. She clicked the link to watch the live broadcast. An anchor was talking about something in mid-sentence when she did, but the headline was what confused her.

 _ **FEMALE SUPER SOLDIER IN WWII? MILITARY SECRETS EXPOSED**_

"Do you see it?" Sam asked, barely audible through the phone now. The anchor even mentioned Sara by name, a picture of her from nineteen forty-three hovering on the screen beside him as he spoke.

Sara swallowed, readjusting the phone to hear better. "Yeah...I see it."

That was the start. That wasn't where it stopped. She knew people would recognize her or know her name, and it didn't bother her too much. Not until she'd walked down the street to a nearby coffee shop, the one she'd visited every week for the last couple of months.

She went into the shop and ordered a coffee, then perused the shop's selection of books and magazines to the right of the register while she waited. Her face was plastered to the front of every add. All of them dubbed her a 'female Captain America' or a 'Captain America knock off'.

They called her name, she got her coffee, and went straight home. The next was a call from a representative of the Smithsonian. She was nice, polite. She wanted to tell Sara about the changes they were making to the museum, the biggest being the addition exhibit to accompany the Captain America one.

Sara tried to tell the woman she wasn't interested, but she was told that the new exhibit was added already. All that the woman wanted was to get a quote from Sara for it, or maybe an interview to add. Sara hung up the phone and ignored any calls from that number.

It seemed the phone never stopped ringing. How the media had gotten her number, she didn't know, but it made her get a new one, along with a whole new phone. It took a week for her curiosity to break her. She went to the museum.

Nothing seemed too different at first. The only thing she noticed were the tall standing banners at the entrance telling guests about the new Sara Riley information center, located at the back of the exhibit. Sara walked through, taking her time.

She passed the mannequins, all of the moving pictures. But she came to a stop at the same place she'd always paused. The glass display with the portrait of Bucky. It was a slight hesitation of habit, her muscle memory keeping her there a moment longer than she should've been.

The image never did him any justice. You could never truly see him, she knew, unless you met him in person. Only then would you feel the true affects of his gaze. She took in a deep breath and turned away from the glass. It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do, turn from him.

As her eyes moved to see the mannequins and the large paintings on the wall behind them as she took steps forward, her gaze caught on something. A someone, standing a foot from her. She nearly walked right into him, and she would have had she not noticed him so quickly.

She stepped back but stopped there, her eyes truly seeing the frame she nearly collided into. He wore a heavy jacket and a dark ball cap, trying for inconspicuous, with his hands in his jacket pockets. But it was Bucky. His blues eyes alone would have given him away.

"You're not up there," he said, referring to the lack of Sara Riley on the walls.

"Yeah, well, you aren't the only one that doesn't remember me," she replied, as calmly as she could. Though, her hands were starting to shake lightly where they hung against her sides. Her fingers balled into fists in an attempt to stop it, but it failed. "Keep walking, you'll find me."

His eyes were curious, once again searching her features uncertainly. Sara gave a small, closed-mouthed smile, and walked past him to the exit, drying her under eyes with her jacket sleeve.


	21. Chapter Twenty: Gin Rummy

PAST

Sara carefully wrapped a soldier's forearm, hollering instructions across the tent to the only other nurse available. Once she finished there, she stood, and went to the crates along the far wall for more supplies.

"Hey, doc?"

She sighed at the familiar masculine voice, glancing to the left, to the nearest occupied cot. "Yes, Sergeant?" she put on a mockingly sweet smile, having had enough male interaction for the rest of her life in one afternoon.

The injured soldiers rescued from Schmidt's facility in Azzano all needed tending to, and it seemed all other nurses or medics of any kind were tied up with at least a dozen patients each. Sara was ranging on at least twenty patients. Sergeant James Barnes demanded to be one of them.

Bucky smiled up at her from his cot, seeing her stressed and unamused expression. "Did Steve say where he was going?"

"London, to the base," Sara answered, turning back to the crate in front of her. "But, don't worry, you'll be joining him soon enough."

"What do you mean?" an eyebrow rose on his forehead.

"I have orders to transfer you to the London base as soon as you're well enough," Sara explained, hefting the crate and carrying it down the aisle of cots past Bucky. "By the look of that, you'll be leaving tomorrow."

Bucky nodded a little, but a deeper question pulled at his curiosity. "Where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know. Wherever the Colonel sends me. Whether that's to London or not is beyond my control." She seemed so calm about it, like it was natural, like her personal feelings weren't even a factor. The Sergeant only dreamed of having that kind of resolve.

"Nurse, can I get some more pain killers over here?" a man called, from a few cots down the aisle.

Sara sighed, standing to walk over to him. "Dugan, I told you already I cannot give you more than what is allowed."

Another patient called for her, or for someone in general, and she was off. Bucky's eyes followed her as she flitted around the tented area for the good majority of the afternoon. For the first half of it, he'd been asleep.

Hydra starved, sleep-deprived, and worked the men nearly to death. Sergeant Barnes was no exception. He'd lost much weight at the facility and was now experiencing extreme muscle fatigue. Getting the right foods and plenty of fluids was helping, though.

Having Sara as his attending nurse did seem to do something to boost that growing health. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her that brought an unreadable calm to everywhere she went.

Sara didn't take many breaks in her line of work. There was always someone that needed something from her when she was a nurse. But she did her best to be as kind as she could manage and make sure no one was left untreated.

Finally, at the end of the day, the large majority of the soldiers were asleep or attempting to be. Sara could finally sit down, or go to her tent and sleep, or eat something. All things she hadn't done all day. But she noticed something odd.

For the last two days the men had been in need of medical attention, Bucky was one of the first asleep. He was usually asleep for most of the day. But now he sat up and awake, not looking a bit of tired. Sara exhaled her stress and walked up the aisle to the end of his cot.

His eyes moved up as she did, noticing her presence. "Aren't you going to get some sleep?" Sara asked, quietly, as not to wake the other soldiers.

"I'm not that tired," Bucky shook his head, waving it away. "But you definitely need to sleep."

Sara gave a playful toss of her eyes. "Thank you for that shining compliment."

"No, no- that's not what I meant," Bucky chuckled at himself.

"I know what you meant," Sara smiled a little, then glanced around at the sleeping men. No one was stirring, no one was waking. She turned back to Bucky. "Do you know how to play Gin?"

Bucky paused, eyebrows furrowing at her question. "What?"

"Do you know how to play Gin Rummy, the card game?" she clarified, her smile only widening at his perplexed response. It was at that when it clicked in his mind, and he nodded.

"Oh, yeah I know how," he answered. "I don't see how that affects my health, though..."

Sara gave him a look at his ending sarcastic tone, and held up a finger. She then disappeared outside the flaps of the tent covering. She dashed along the lies of tents and slipped into hers, the one she shared with Candice, another nurse, and fished her deck of cards from her bag.

Carefully, she hurried back to the medical tent. Bucky perked up as she reentered, a curious and amused look upon his face. "You look like you just robbed a bank," he observed.

She held a finger to her lips and shushed him, rounding the end of his cot. "Quiet, if they wake up they'll want in," she said, quietly. She lowered herself to sit on the edge of the cot beside Bucky's knees. "This seat isn't taken, is it?"

He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head. "It's all yours. So, where'd a woman like you learn to play Gin?"

"A woman like me?" Sara's eyebrow popped, her tone playfully warning. "What kind of woman am I exactly, Sergeant?"

"You're a nurse, a super soldier...I just didn't think you played cards," Bucky shrugged innocently.

Sara's eyes narrowed, humming a little as she dealt out ten cards each, "I think you'll find I am not anything like you expected, and you would be wise not to put me in a box."

"Literally or metaphorically?" Bucky's tone was light, playful.

The right corner of Sara's lips tugged up into a smirk, "Both."


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Good Morning

PRESENT

Sara blew a huff of an exhale, sifting through the morning's mail, tucked into her side of the bed. "Humanity never fails to horrify me," she said. "This is a nation of stalkers."

"Em, people want to know who you are. It happened to me, too- all of this publicity. You've just got to choose your battles," Steve said, readjusting his position on his side of the bed, moving his head to see her better from his pillow.

"They want me on Good Morning America. What is that?" she asked, looking down at him.

"It's a morning show," he answered. Then, shrugging a bit, he added, "They seem nice."

Sara looked back to the mail with a hum, before her eyes caught another name. "What about Ellen? Who is she?" she asked.

"It's another talk show. Ellen interviews famous people about what they do all day, basically. Just like the others," Steve sighed, before rolling over, turning his back to her.

She scoffed, smacking his shoulder blade with the small wad of mail. "You're not helping! I need to go on at least one of them, if anything just to tell the rest- publically- to back off."

"Go with Good Morning America," he mumbled, his voice muffled from the pillow in his face.

Sara sighed and looked at the clock beside the bed. It was almost midnight. She hadn't realized it was so late, but it didn't stop her from being drastically conflicted. In a frustrated huff, she tossed the mail on the night stand and pulled on the lamp's chain, clicking the room into almost total darkness.

A soft light came through the only window in the room, on Steve's side, from a street light. It casted shadows on Sara's side of the bed, plunging her into total darkness. Sara scooted down further under the blanket onto her side, then turned to face Steve's back.

She slid her arm around his middle, her nose nestled into the top of his shoulder blade. "You're ridiculous, you know that?" Steve said, rhetorically. He sighed, before turning over to face her, wrapping his arms around her as she snuggled into the front of his gray t-shirt.

"Yes. But what does that say about you?" she cocked an eyebrow.

He exhaled, "That I'm clinically insane."

* * *

When the sun came up, and three hours had passed, Steve woke. Sara was sleeping soundly, the blanket tucked up to her shoulders, face covered in locks of her hair, with her back to him. He pushed himself up carefully, slipping out of bed without waking her as well.

He dressed and stepped lightly to her side of the bed, brushing the hair from her face just enough to place a gentle kiss to her temple, before heading to the kitchen. It was the usual routine as of late. Sara slept more often, for longer periods of time, and she slept more heavily.

If a bomb went off downtown, odds were, Sara Riley would not be the first to wake due to the sound. It seemed as though she were getting better. At least, her sleeping problem was being resolved. Now she did not even need someone with her to become tired at night.

It was ten-thirty when Sara finally woke up. A yawn escaped her before her eyes had even opened, bringing with it a long stretch of her arms and legs. Her arms dropped onto the blanket and she paused. Turning only her head, she saw half the bed was empty.

It wasn't unusual for her to wake up alone, but that didn't stop her from wishing Steve would stay longer. She let out a sigh and pushed off the blanket, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The first step to her morning was always a shower.

Though it took her a while, she'd finally found the perfect routine every day. Barring there might be changes from day to day depending on different circumstances, it was perfect. She showered, dressed in something comfortable, had her coffee and a bagel, then went to the park down the street to draw for a few hours.

This time, when she entered the kitchen, the dining table was set and the smell of something undefinable filled her nose. "Someone's been busy," she commented, crossing her arms loosely, leaning a hip into the protruding doorway.

Steve looked up from the pan on the stovetop with a smile pulling at the left corner of his mouth. "Good morning," he said, before turning over a pancake. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby. Wait a second- did you do the dishes?" Sara questioned, perplexed as her eyes narrowed at the empty sink on the other side of Steve.

"Yeah. I know it wasn't my turn, but-"

"Stop!" she held up a hand, pushing off the wall. "Don't ruin it."

He shook his head as he chuckled at her words. Sara pattered across the kitchen on her bare feet and took his face in her hands, pulling it toward her, and caught his lips in a kiss. The action, though unexpected, was welcomed.

Steve slid his arm around her middle, reciprocating the kiss almost immediately. Sara draped her arms loosely around his neck as she pulled away, smiling softly up at him. "You look very handsome right now," she stated.

"I do, huh?"

"Mm hm."

She nodded, before a bubbly chuckle escaped her. Steve turned to face her fully, sliding his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. He hummed a moment before capturing her lips in another kiss.

He took a step forward, she shuffled back. Without needing to part, she hopped onto the counter top beside the stove, her back hitting the cupboards behind her, the arms around Steve's neck pulling him back with her. The kiss was deep and passionate, and completely distracting.

Sara combed her fingertips through his hair while Steve's hands gripped tightly to her hip bones, clawing them closer to his own. There was no space. There was no air. But neither of those things were needed or desired.

When they broke apart finally, her head dropped back onto the cupboards and Steve rested his forehead against hers as they both regained the oxygen they'd just forfeited. "If I'd known you would react like this, I would've been doing a lot more dishes," Steve said, a bit out of breath.

"It's never too late to start," Sara replied. "No time like the present, right?"

"Why do you have to use my own words against me?"

Sara bit her lower lip to hide a smirk. "It's kind of become a habit, hasn't it?"

Steve sighed heavily, almost groaning at her words, before pulling back. He moved back just enough to snake an arm around her lower back and slip the other hand beneath her right knee, then hefted her off the counter.

* * *

After a late breakfast, Sara left the apartment with her satchel, headed to the park. It wasn't ever something she'd shown to anyone else, but drawing her thoughts or dreams gave her a calming release amongst a somewhat anxiety-ridden situation.

On the way, she decided to call the Good Morning America representative back, to tell him she would go on the show. He'd said on the message that it was to talk about her life, the secrecy involved, and how life was for her now in the twenty-first century.

The conversation went fairly well. It started with a polite 'thank you for returning my call' and ended with a 'we look forward to seeing you on Sunday'. Sara was relaxed in the thought that if she expressed the want to be left alone on national television, she might just get it fulfilled.

If she were going to appear before millions of people, she would need something to wear, she knew. Not something fancy, just something a little more professional looking than her faded denim and baggy sweaters. Her boots were a bit faded at this point, as well.

Sara popped into the mall. Macy's was nice, though it was a bit pricy. She looked at a few other stores like JC Penny, H&M, Sears, and GAP. But she eventually found something worth looking at in the small American Eagle store.

She perused a bit, though she stopped on a nice gray dress. It was more form fitting than she would normally allow, but she found a nice black leather jacket that was loose enough in front for the folds of the jacket to cover enough to keep it modest. The outfit was comfortable and was the proper amount of casual and dressy, along with a pair of faded black mesh tights.

Next was a Payless for a pair of shoes that would go with the outfit. High heels weren't something she was incredibly fond of, so she tried for something with a small heel that still looked dressy enough.

At the back of the aisle was a pair of black sandals. She checked the size, tried them on. Her eyes shifted over her shoulder in a quick glance at her shopping bags on the bench a few feet from her. In this new age, she didn't need to get something stolen to know she needed to be aware.

Every entrance to a location gave her a reason to scan the surroundings. Sara kept track of all people around her, whether they posed a threat or not. Because, now, you never know the danger until you've already experienced it. The quick flit of her gaze caused her to have to look again to make sure she wasn't going insane.

She could've sworn there was a shadow against the back wall. Upon glancing again, looking longer this time, she found no such thing. Sighing heavily, she grabbed her bags and brought the shoes to the counter. "Good afternoon, did you find everything you were looking for today?" the clerk asked, smiling as Sara approached.

Sara smiled back, her lips pressed together in a fine line. "Yes, thank you."

The clerk, a young woman in her early twenties by the look of it, seemed hesitant for a moment as she scanned Sara's shoes, eliciting a sharp beep from the register. Sara's eyes shifted to the woman's name tag. Chelsea.

Chelsea's eyes flickered up to Sara sporadically in millisecond glances, but that wasn't what gave her away. It was the slight shake to her hands as she handled the shoes, placed them in a plastic bag with the Payless logo, then pressed a few buttons on the register.

The woman took Sara's money and Sara exited with her shoes with nothing but a polite reply to the clerk's cheery 'have a good week end!'. It was hard, being someone that people see as a celebrity. Sara was nothing more than someone who saw a need and filled it. Yet they acted as if she starred in a film or became president.

Sara tried to shake it off as she crossed the wide hall to the small Starbucks booth by the escalators. There were only a couple people ahead of her so she stepped in line. She checked her watch. It'd only been just over an hour since she entered the mall. It felt as though it were much longer.

Shopping wasn't something Sara enjoyed. It was like a store was really a front for a black hole. You go in, spend six hours, buy things you don't need or will never need, and then leave with sore feet and an empty wallet. It wasn't a hobby she was interested in. Though she did acknowledge shopping was a necessity for buying things you actually needed.

She stepped up as the line moved, exhaling as she glanced around at the store fronts and their bright and wildly colored advertisements. A shadow resided in the corner of her eye, but when she twisted more to see it, it wasn't there. She was going insane now, she knew. All of the stress literally making her go crazy.

An abrupt pull at her arm caused her head to snap down and to the right in an instant, seconds before a small voice spoke, saying, "Excuse me?" A young girl, just shorter than Sara's waist, was tugging at Sara's sleeve. She wore a pretty green sundress that contrasted to her dark skin, her black cork screw curls tied in high pig tails on her head with ribbons.

"Hello," Sara greeted, before looking around. "Where are your parents, sweetheart?"

"Mom's over there," the girl pointed to a makeup booth, where a woman was getting walked through a four-step cleansing routine, then she looked back up at Sara. "Are you Sara Riley?"

"That's me," Sara smiled a little at the girl. "What's your name?"

"Aisha," the girl smiled back.

"That is a very beautiful name," Sara complimented.

"Thank you! You're so amazing!" Aisha practically squealed, just barely containing herself. "You're incredible- no, more than incredible, you're-"

Sara laughed a little at Aisha's enamored rambling. "I was just doing my job. What do you want to do when you get older?"

"I want to be a doctor," she quickly responded.

"A doctor? Wow, that's quite the dream you've got."

"I know. Mom says it'll be really hard, but I want to do it so bad."

Sara couldn't help sobering a bit at that. She remembered being just like that when she was younger, during the summer of nineteen thirty-three. She was only thirteen at the time but she knew helping people was something she just had to do.

"Can I take a picture with you?" Aisha suddenly asked, beaming.

Sara was a bit hesitant to immediately agree, glancing once again at Aisha's mother. She seemed totally unaware of her daughter's venture down the long hall. But, the girl's face was too lit up, and Sara couldn't be the reason it drooped.

She knelt to one knee, setting her bags down beside her, "Of course."

"Really?" Aisha gasped, before readying the cell phone in her other hand. "Thank you!" Aisha sidled up to Sara, and Sara wrapped her arms around her in a hug as Aisha held up the camera for a selfie.

They took two photos of two different poses, one serious and the other with very silly expressions. The two laughed at themselves in the non-serous pose. Just as they finished taking photos, her mother approached them. "Aisha! There you are," she exhaled with relief, before taking her daughter's wrist. Sara stood as the woman looked to her apologetically.

"I'm so sorry she bothered you," the woman said.

"No, no- it's alright," Sara assured, with a polite smile. "Your daughter is wonderful."

"Mom, mom! Sara let me take a picture with her! Look!" Aisha excitedly showed her mother the phone. More specifically, the photos they'd taken.

Aisha's mother smiled at Sara, "Thank you, so much," then, looking to Aisha, she added, "Come on, honey, we need to be getting home now."

Aisha looked a bit disappointed she would have to leave but shouted a 'thank you' as she waved to Sara, her mother leading her away toward the exit. Sara waved back with a smile and the two disappeared into the crowded hall.

By the time they were done, Sara was next in line for coffee. She'd almost forgotten she was going to do that before going home. But she plucked her bags off the floor and ordered her coffee. She headed home as soon as the coffee was in her hands.

She walked, as per her usual. Driving wasn't something she quite trusted yet. The roads and people driving on them had changed dramatically, and not for the better either. To her, it was smarter just to stay off of them as much as possible. Besides, walking was never something that bothered her anyway.

When she got back to the apartment, she found it empty. She didn't mind. It would give her a little more time to herself. She put the shopping bags in the bedroom and traded in her shoes for some soft socks, then pattered back to the living room.

She was pleased to find Steve had left his laptop behind, as she threw her weight into the couch, seeing it on the coffee table. She opened it and pulled it onto her lap as she reclined into the cushions. Using a computer had proven to be a bit difficult at times, but she only really needed it for minor things.

For the past two weeks, she'd been looking at apartments to rent. Natasha had told her to come live with her and the gang at Avengers tower. Sara insisted she find a place of her own, but thanked her for the offer. She wanted to at least keep some sense of independence.

Sara didn't know when she was going to tell Steve this, when she would break the news that she was moving out. She didn't have much to take with her but that changed nothing. She would still be leaving. Steve would undoubtedly feel hurt she kept it from him, but she wasn't even truly sure it was a possibility.

She'd been browsing once again, at it for at least a couple of hours, before she heard the front door pushing open. "Steve?" she called, eyes unmoving from the screen.

"Yeah," Steve exhaled, entering the living room.

Sara minimized her browser as she looked up, giving a soft, closed-mouthed smile. That was until she heard a booming familiar voice not far behind him, the door shutting a bit hard, and Steve sighed heavily.

Sam appeared over Steve's shoulder before stepping around. "Hey, hey," he greeted, all smiles. "You, young lady, have not been returning my calls."

"I talked to you yesterday," Sara raised a brow.

"And I've been calling you every other day. But, no, you only answer once a week. I can't take being alone that long, Sara." Sara tossed her eyes, laughing a bit at his sarcastic tone and humorous expression.

"I know it's movie night, but I invited Sam to have dinner with us," Steve explained.

"Oh, okay," Sara sat up, placing the laptop on the coffee table. "And your plans for dinner are...?"

"I'm paying for take-out," Sam spoke up. "You like Chinese, right?"

Sara smiled, pushing herself up from the couch. "You know I love Chinese."

* * *

It was Sunday morning before Sara even had time to plan out what to answer for all of the questions she was sure they would ask, on live television no less. But she wore her previously purchased outfit, ready for the camera at six am as instructed.

The representative she spoke to on the phone met her at the entrance to the studio, and he walked her in all the way to the set. He explained a bit about the show and what they do there. He also mentioned a few of the topics they would be going over.

Sara expected the typical questions. Most of them would probably be geared toward her gender, and how it must have affected her being a woman in the forties trying to save the world, in so many words. She was at least prepared for that much.

Captain America would most likely come up as well, and why she was kept it a secret. She could answer those with almost enough certainty to make it believable. The first anchor she met entering the set was Robin Roberts.

Sara didn't know what to expect from these people, but Robin showered Sara with compliments, full of admiration and amazement. So did the other anchors for the most part. George Stephanopoulos acted as he appeared on the program Sara watched before arriving.

Amy Robach and Lara Spencer were very kind as well when they introduced herself. They'd asked her if she was nervous, laughed a little, she even laughed along with them, shaking her head no. But as she sat in a chair on the carpeted set, with a large screen with the Good Morning America logo beside her, she felt slightly anxious.

She sat across from Robin in an identical chair, a round wooden table in between them. The interview wasn't hard, it was waiting for it. It was anticipating answers to questions they would most likely never ask, but plagued her mind anyway.

Never the less, Sara gave a bright close-mouthed smile as Robin introduced her to the live camera aiming at them. "Sara, thank you for being here with us this morning," Robin smiled.

"It's great to be here," Sara smiled back.

"I know you must get this question a lot," Robin started, causing Sara to brace herself. "But we're all dying to know. Your life has been nothing but non-stop action as far as the eye can see, but what made you want to become a so-called super soldier?"

Sara squared her shoulders a bit, making sure she was sitting up straight, and she inhaled, "My parents were Israeli immigrants in Germany- I lived there from eight months to twelve years. Relations between Germans and Jews were starting to become strained. My parents only had enough resources and funds to send me alone to the states to make a better life, make a difference. So, I guess, I felt like I was honoring my parents' wishes by accepting."

"Really? So, you know first hand what things were like in Europe during the war," Robin said, more an observation than a question.

Sara nodded. "Yes, I guess so."

"Now, the classified documents leaked onto the internet told a lot of your life in the military. But what was your life like outside of the military during that time?" Robin inquired.

"It was...less than glamorous. I was fairly busy with, well, the war," Sara chuckled a little to mask her duh-statement, and Robin chuckled along with her, nodding. "But, um, I actually spent most of my spare time with Howard Stark."

Robin's eyebrows popped as she sat back a bit in her chair. "Really?"

"Yes. Howard was a very close friend of mine. I'm sure the documents mentioned he recommended me for the project?"

"Yes, they did. Are you close with his son Tony?" Robin asked.

"I've actually only spoken to Tony once, for about thirty minutes- but he was kind enough to put me with in touch with Steve Rogers, when I first came back to civilization, so to speak," Sara answered, calmly. "He seems just as brilliant as his father, from what I've seen and heard."

Robin nodded in agreement, before moving on. "Given you just mentioned you were put in touch with Captain Rogers-"

"It's just Steve Rogers."

"Um- I'm sorry?"

Sara clarified, "Steve was never actually a Captain. It's basically a stage name."

Robin seemed a bit put off course by the interruption, but she moved on gracefully, continuing on with her original question, "Alright. Are you and Steve Rogers still in touch?"

"Yes," Sara nodded. "He's a close friend of mine."

"I imagine you both spent a lot of time together during the war?"

"Yes, mostly fighting."

"Did you make any other friends during that time? Are there any relatives alive or, maybe even they're alive themselves?"

Sara shook her head. "Agent Carter is still alive, I speak with her sometimes. As for any other friends I'd made- they are all dead. They either perished during the war or died of old age."

The question brought an image to her mind. A tight grip on the left shoulder of her jacket, pinning her against hard glass, wide and uncertain blue eyes staring at her with a fist poised to kill. She shook it off after a moment, catching enough of the next question to continue.

Something stuck with her from it. A distant feeling numbness in her chest, an anxious indecision residing where her heart should be. "So, there was no romance involved in the nineteen forties for Sergeant Sara Riley?" Robin smiled during the question, but Sara only felt sick.

Sara tried to act nonchalant, inconspicuous. But it didn't work. She instead looked slightly nervous, visibly swallowing, taking a deep breath before answering. "Um...not exactly. There was someone, but he died during the war," Sara replied.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Robin said, sympathetically. "Is this 'someone' the Sergeant mentioned in the documents- James Barnes, a fellow Howling Commando and best friend to Steve Rogers?"

Sara swallowed again, readjusting her position in the chair. She nodded a little, "Yes, he is. Was. We were on a mission together, all of us, when he died. You can read about it at the Smithsonian."

"How do you feel about the new exhibit correcting the information in the previous Captain America exhibit, adding you in?" Robin inquired.

"Quite frankly, I think it's sick. All of it is an inhuman invasion of privacy," Sara answered, keeping her chin up, replacing her anxiety with the anger she was given by the immensely personal nature of the questions. "I would like to live my life, maybe do some more good for the people around me. But that's impossible when cameras are on you every five minutes."

"Well, that is the nature of becoming a celebrity. You're not just a war hero, Sergeant. You've become a sort of feminist icon for young women everywhere," Robin took it gracefully, trying to turn it around while they still had time.

Sara gritted her teeth. "I am a human being before I am your 'feminist icon'. I saved hundreds of lives during the war, and all I ask is for a little privacy. Are you that ignorant to assume this way of living is necessary because it's 'natural'? I almost pity you."


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: Post Traumatic

PRESENT

Natasha had urged Sara to stop by the tower before heading back to D.C. and, of course, Sara couldn't refuse this time. Not after so many times of turning her down already. So Natasha lead the way through Avengers Tower and into the elevator.

Sara didn't quite enjoy Natasha's company just yet, but there was a kind of comradery between them after the events in the weeks prior that made her a lot less unbearable. As the elevator opened on the lobby floor for the Avengers, they were deep in a conversation about Sara's boring life.

There weren't many interesting details, but the conversation topic changed as soon as they stepped out from the elevator car. "Wow," Sara was stunned by the sleek and modern design of what looked like a living room area. "This is..."

"Amazing, I know," said a familiar masculine voice.

Sara peered around Natasha to see Tony Stark, approaching them from a hallway to the right. "I was going to say clean," Sara corrected, sliding her hands into her jacket pockets. "My living room is a bit of a mess."

"You mean Steve's living room," Natasha pointed out, flashing a knowing smile at Sara.

Sara only rolled her eyes. Tony slid his hands in his pants pockets, eyeing Sara. "So, what brings the infamous Blacksite to our humble abode?" he asked, curiously.

"It's bring your sidekick to work day," Natasha smiled, slinging her arm around Sara's shoulders. Sara sent an unamused expression at Natasha, but it didn't stop her in the slightest.

"I see. Well, try to keep your grubby mitts off the fine China," Tony said, as he walked past them, tossing the words over his shoulder. "And stay out of the fridge! That turkey pot pie is rightfully mine. Some bozo keeps stealing it."

Tony disappeared into a kitchen-style area around a corner, out of sight from the woman at the elevator. Natasha gave a huff of a sigh, rolling her eyes. "That 'bozo' would be me," a man smiled sheepishly, coming to stand at the entrance to the living room, his hands in his pants pockets.

He had dark curls that curved behind his ears, with a button up dress shirt and slacks. It seemed a little out of place given the casual nature of the fashion sense on this level of the building. "Sara, this is Dr. Bruce Banner," Natasha introduced, sidestepping to see them both.

"Dr. Banner? Oh, Steve told me a lot about you," Sara smiled little, holding out a hand toward the man to shake. "I'm Sara Riley."

Banner returned the small smile, shaking her hand. "All good things, I hope. It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you, as well. I, uh, saw you on TV this morning."

"I imagine a lot of people did," Sara nodded.

"Train wreck!" Tony hollered from the kitchen, his voice in sing-song.

The only outward reaction to this from Sara was a slight narrowing of her eyes, a light tilt of her head. Natasha, however, rolled her eyes and shouted back, "Entitled your autobiography."

Sara's left eyebrow popped with a pleased, closed mouthed smile on her lips, and she turned her head to look at Natasha. "Nice."

Natasha smirked, "I thought it was."

Just then, Tony exited the kitchen with a bowl overflowing with popcorn and he started down the hall toward them. He stuffed handfuls in his mouth as he passed them in silence, keeping his eyes foreword to keep his unbothered façade.

He disappeared down the hall, around a corner, and Sara sighed. "He doesn't like me, does he?" she asked, rhetorically.

"He acts like he doesn't like a lot of people," Banner tried to be supportive. "That's just...Tony."

"Where's Thor?" Natasha asked, rising on her toes a bit as she glanced around at the open room before them, only to find it empty.

Banner glanced around. "Uh...he was just here..."

"Do you always misplace your gods?" Sara asked, to no in particular, a bit of a sly smile ghosting her lips, smirking at her own joke.

Natasha shrugged, "This is a bit of a new development."

Just then, Thor appeared down the hall, coming out of a room. He was walking right for them but he wasn't paying attention, not until Natasha called his name. His eyes moved up and, almost instantly, a care free smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

He approached them, eyes narrowing just slightly as he came to stand opposite Sara. "Who might this be?" he inquired, curiously, as he looked to Natasha and Banner.

Sara held out a hand. "Sara Riley."

"Right. You shake it, yes?" he asked, rhetorically, as his rather large hand encompassed Sara's. She nodded with a polite smile, shaking his hand. "You are Steve's friend?"

"Yes, I am. But just Sara is fine," Sara answered.

"It is a pleasure meeting you Just Sara," Thor nodded once, stepping back. Normally you would assume he was joking. If he were any normal man, he would be. Sara's eyebrows knitted as she realized he was dead serious. "But I must depart for sustenance."

He smiled once more at Natasha and Bruce, before disappearing into the kitchen. "Why don't we go to the shooting range?" Natasha suggested, turning to Sara.

Sara nodded once, exhaling. "Great idea."

Natasha returned the singular nod, and Sara gave a small wave to Dr. Banner before following Romanoff down the hallway leading opposite the kitchen. The shooting range was on the other side of the building and down a level.

Once they arrived, they found it already in use. Clint was shooting arrows at one of the ranges, shooting a human shaped paper target, all arrows stuck to the bull's eye. He drew back an arrow, preparing to loose it as the women walked in.

Clint lowered the bow, turning to see them. "Well, look at what the cat dragged in," he commented, stoically.

"Mind if we go a few rounds?" Natasha smirked.

She came to stand a foot from him, but Sara veered left, shuffling toward the open crate by a wall of guns. Inside the crate was a sleek, smooth looking recurve bow. She could only find one word in her mind to describe its appearance: beautiful.

Its basic shape reminded her of her own bow. The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end a millisecond before she felt a presence at her side, followed by a voice. "You like what you see, kid?"

Sara's eyes moved up to Clint's face at her right. "I'm ninety-five."

"Why don't you try it out?" Clint offered, passing right over her comment, as he reached a hand into the crate. Sara shook her head to protest, uttering a decline. But then he pulled the bow from the crate and it silenced her.

Sara Riley was in pure amazement. She practically gaped, watching it with rounded eyes. He smiled a little, holding it out to her. "Go on. Give it try," he said.

For a second, she told herself no, but it didn't take much to get her own defenses down enough to reach out and take it. The hand hold fit to her hand almost perfectly, as though the material bent to fit her exact measures as she gripped it.

The bow was as light as air, she found, testing its weight in her hand. Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver and held it out to her. She took it, before stepping over to an empty range. She loaded in the arrow and drew it back, all the way to her cheek.

Everything was ready. She was poised to shoot. Her fingers would not release it in that moment, and her eyebrows lowered as she glanced down, only to find her hands shaking lightly. Inhaling deeply, she looked to the target.

With the shaking of her hands, the bow, too, moved with a slight jitter. Her eyes narrowed to focus on the target as she aimed. A sudden change in the scenery sent a bolt of adrenaline into her veins. Instead of a paper target, she now looked off the edge of a metal landing.

Sara was on the helicarrier. She knew it wasn't real, but it looked so much like the real thing. Her arrow released from her bow, then, sinking deep into the shoulder of The Winter Soldier. His cry of pain jolted her out of the memory, causing her stance to shift to the left an inch.

"Everything okay, kid?" Clint asked, stepping up beside her.

Sara quickly lowered the bow. Shaking her head just as fast, she shoved it into his chest. "Take it- I can't," she decided, before shuffling backward a step. "I can't use it."

Lowering the bow to his side, Clint pursed his lips knowingly. "When was the last time you used one of these things?"

"About a month ago. When I...shot my best friend."

"How are you supposed to save lives if you can't even save your own?" Clint questioned, rhetorically. He gestured his index finger to her temple. "It's not about here. It's what's in your hands. Take it."

He held the bow and arrow out to her. Her eyes scanned it skeptically a moment, before moving up to meet his firm gaze. He gave the bow a light shake in a gesture. "Come on. Or are you too old for this? Want me to get you a walker?"

Her eyes narrowed drastically, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled. One hand came up and snatched the bow and arrow and she turned to face the target. A flaming heat was coating the walls of her chest cavity. That, my dear, is spite, her mother once said. And she was right.

Sara nocked the arrow into the bow once more and drew it back, pulling it easily. "What is the weight on this thing?" she asked, only her eyes moving as she glanced at Clint.

"Eighty," Clint answered.

"My bow is sixty," Sara aimed the arrow while she spoke. "I think I need to get one of these."

Her hands still held a minor tremble, but the heat in her chest and the fire in her lungs burned too hot to care now. In a second, she'd loosed the arrow. The carbon tore through the paper target and the foam behind it, half the arrow in and the other half out.

The arrow had stuck right through the center of the forehead on the target. Sara lowered the bow, then looked up to Clint. "Still need that walker?"

"I think we need to up the weight on that thing," he said, squinting at the target.

"But this is yours," Sara's eyebrows furrowed.

"Actually that's a prototype. I've been trying to get something together that'll better fit your capabilities. Looks like eighty's too light. What do you think? Wanna try a hundred?" Clint asked, nonchalantly, as he turned to face her.

Sara shrugged, "Alright."

* * *

After staying at Avengers tower slightly longer than planned, Sara arrived back at the apartment Monday night. Her watch said midnight. She carefully stepped inside, closing the door and locking it gingerly.

Her toes supported her weight as she trotted to the living room, tossing her bag on the couch, before going to the bedroom. The door was open, as per usual routine. At the doorway, she could see Steve was in bed, his back to her.

Sara took slow, easy steps across the wooden floor to the dresser. She eased out the top drawer before pulling off her sweater, trading it out for a loose-fitting t-shirt. Then she shimmied out of her jeans and slipped on a pair of her cotton pajama shorts.

Once dressed, she closed the drawer, and tip toed to the bed in the dark. Her muscles knew where everything in that apartment was better than her eyes ever could, so at least she had no problem avoiding that dreaded stubbed toe routine.

Sara carefully pulled back the blanket on her side and slipped a foot in, as if testing the waters. Steve was unmoving, unaffected by the change in weight on the bed as she slid all the way in. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Then a muffled, mumbled voice sounded, and her heart shot into her throat.

"It's midnight, Em," Steve said, quietly. His voice sounded tired, worn out from a long day.

Sara rolled onto her side to face his back, folding an arm beneath her head atop the pillow case. "I know, I'm sorry," she whispered back, gently sliding a hand through his hair. "There was a lot of traffic on the highway."

It's become a bit of a habit, that gesture, but neither of them seemed to mind. Her hand came to rest at the base of his skull. With a deep inhalation of breath, Steve maneuvered himself to turn over beneath the blanket, now facing her with tired eyes and a shadowed face.

Sara slid her hand onto his cheek. Steve draped an arm around her middle. With a single tug, he'd pulled her forward, close enough their noses brushed, and he tipped his head down to capture her lips in a kiss.

They were both incredibly tired, even given their physical strength, but they still needed that firm reassurance that the other was in fact there beside them before sleeping. The kiss only lasted for a moment, before Sara pulled away, resting her forehead against his.

"Get some sleep, okay?" she whispered.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Sara smiled softly, curling and snuggling into his chest, his arms comfortably steady around her as he exhaled, letting his eyes fall close. "Goodnight, Steve," Sara hummed a little, closing her eyes as well.

"Goodnight, Em."

* * *

Sara wandered out of the bedroom at noon. Stifling a yawn, she raked her fingers back through the mess of hair on her head, pushing the strands from in front of her face as she stepped into the kitchen. As she did, what she saw caused her to stop cold in her tracks.

Sam and Steve sat at the dining table adjacent to the open kitchen, looking to be sorting through a small pile of letters between them, moving them into separate piles amongst the mess. Sara took slow steps onward, her brow knitted. "Um...good morning?"

"Mornin' princess," Sam beamed, glancing up at her as she approached. "You got some mail."

"I can see that," Sara nodded slowly. She came to stand beside the table, fingering a letter atop the pile. "Where from?"

"Everywhere," Steve replied, a bit taken aback by the mess of envelopes before him.

Sara was a bit perplexed as well. She reached across the table and nabbed a random letter, eyeing the label before turning it over and cracking the seal with a quick swipe of her finger. "How did these people get my address?" she questioned, to no one in particular.

"My guess? The S.H.I.E.L.D. files the Widow dumped on the internet," Sam answered, sorting.

Giving a huff of a sigh, Sara pulled the letter free from the envelope on her hands, and unfolded it to read. Her eyes scanned the paper. It was neat, curvy cursive writing. That wasn't what caught her eye, though. It was the name.

The letter read quickly, explaining in a slight urgency the reasoning behind this out reach. It gripped the air in Sara's lungs and forced it out. All color fled from her face. Steve's eyebrows drew together, examining her features. "Em?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Sam paused at his words, now looking up at Sara as well. Sara shook her head slowly as her eyes reached the end of the letter. "I...I have a nephew? And my brother...he's still alive," she said, slowly, in a small voice. "How could I have missed this? I looked for relatives when I woke up."

"Maybe you weren't looking in the right places?" Sam suggested.

"Who sent the letter?" Steve inquired.

Sara flipped over the envelope, reading aloud, "Albert Davidovsky, from Gaza."

"Sounds a bit coincidental, if you ask me," Sam commented, sorting again.

"What do you mean?" Sara's eyes narrow ever so slightly at him.

Sam sat back in his chair as he replied. "Well, just think. You couldn't find any relatives. Now -now that you're famous- suddenly you have all this family that wants to meet you," he explained. "Sounds to me like they're looking for an easy payday."

"People would actually do that?" Sara asked, appalled.

"Happens a lot," Sam shrugged.

"Oh gosh..." Sara sighed heavily, looking down at the letter. "But what if it's real? If my brother's alive, I need to go see him. I'm calling Sharon."

Sara turned on her heel and headed for the bedroom without another word. She hurried to the bedroom. More specifically, to her cell phone on the bedside table.

She dropped her weight onto her side of the bed and dialed Sharon's number. It only took a short moment for Sharon to answer, "Hey. It's a little early for backup, isn't it?"

"I need you to look into a name for me? Albert Davidovsky. He says he's my great-nephew."

"Alright. You think he's a fake?"

Sara sighed. "I don't know. Just see what you can find?"

"I can't promise you that you'll like the results."

"I'll survive," Then, eyes shifting left to the nightstand, the square black white photo by the lamp, Sara sighed. "I always do."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: The Horizon

There was nothing Sara could do but wait, wait for a call from Sharon sure to make her stomach sour. So she walked to the park. Drawing was always something calming. It allowed her mind to focus on something else, something so detail-oriented she couldn't possibly remember her own struggles until she finished.

Sara sat at a bench with her sketch book, etching out details of an unfinished project. When she'd started it she hadn't known quite what it was. But as it shaped itself, and her hands moved the pencil across the page, it became clear what it was.

The music she often had stuffed in her ears frequently dictated what she drew and, this time, listening to Sam's 'favorites' playlist, she stumbled across Happy Together by The Turtles. It inspired her hands to sketch an image of her hometown.

She grew up in Weimar. There was a tall clock with a round, thick base, getting thinner and thinner until the clock at the top. She would walk by it nearly every day. Something about the tune of the song brought back those memories.

Now, that would be called vintage. But long ago music like that was in style and common. It made Sara nostalgic to think about it, to think of how much had changed. It helped having the MP3 player Sam gave her. He'd preloaded it with music he thought she'd like.

Songs from the 30s and 40s were in a playlist, songs from the 50s, 60s, and 70s were in another, and the 80s, 90s, and even a few current songs were in the third. He claimed he tried to get a wide variety for every decade but Sara knew he only picked out his favorites.

Sara didn't mind, though, for it gave her a new perspective on his personality. A presence caused the hairs at the nape of her neck to stand, and her head snapped up instinctively. Sharon smiled, closed-mouthed. Her mouth moved, but no sound emanated.

Sara quickly plucked an earbud from her ear. "I'm sorry- could you repeat that?"

"I asked if this seat was taken," Sharon chuckled a little, gesturing a hand at the open space beside Sara on the bench.

"It's all yours," Sara shook her head. She pulled the other earbud out and placed the MP3 player and her sketch book beside her on the bench.

Sharon lowered herself to sit in the empty space with a light sigh. "I looked into Davidovsky," she said, before pulling a manila folder from the innards of her jacket.

Sara crossed her arms. "He's a fake, isn't he?"

"Quite the opposite," Sharon shook her head, and held out the file. "He's legit. You have family in Gaza and Be'er Sheva. Your brother is currently at Hadassah Medical Center."

Sara took the file, quick to open it, eyes scanning the page. But she paused a moment, her eyebrows knitting together as her eyes swept left, to Sharon. "My brother is in Jerusalem?"

"He has Frontotemporal Dementia," Sharon explained.

For a moment, Sara couldn't move. Her next words came out as a slight stutter. "H-how is he?" she asked, her voice small. "Is he...will he even remember me?"

"I'm not sure on that. The best way to find that out would be to go there and see for yourself," Sharon said, helplessly, a bit apologetic. "But your nephew is spotless. Served two years in the IDF, graduated from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, and now lives in Gaza with his fiancée."

"He's getting married?" Sara sighed heavily, her gaze dropping to the open file folder in her lap.

Sharon's shoulders dropped. She truly wished she didn't have to be the bearer of such bad news. She wanted to do more, do something to help, maybe make Sara seem less said. But she knew nothing could lift that heavy burden.

Still, Sharon spoke up. "If you want to go see your brother, I can arrange for a plane."

"Thank you...I'm, um...I'm not sure what I want to do at the moment," Sara admitted, shaking her hung head slowly. "I'll keep that in mind, though."

"Alright. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything else," Sharon offered, standing up from the bench. Sara replied with a singular nod and a thin, closed-mouthed smile. She couldn't bring herself to react any other way.

When Sharon had gone, and Sara was by herself, her back dropped into the backing of the bench as her shoulders slumped. It felt like her throat was three times smaller than it had been before, with a large lump blocking any air flow.

Sara pushed herself up from the bench, stuffing her MP3 player into her satchel and gathering her sketchbook, then walked back to the apartment. She didn't know what she was going to say. She didn't know what to decide.

Her heart ached in her chest, a pressure building between her eyes. All she knew in the moment she pushed through the apartment door, was that the memory of her family was forcing tears from her eyes and she longed desperately to see what was left of it.

Steve looked to be just ending a phone call in the living room when she entered, and he stood from the couch, features etched with concern upon seeing her glistening cheeks. "Em? What's wrong?" he asked, voice full of worry.

Sara's lip was quivering, stopping her stride at the beginning of the living room. "It's him, Steve. It's my brother," she mumbled out, before sniffling to keep back a surge of tears. "He's in a hospital in Jerusalem. I need to go, I need to see him."

Steve's head hung, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled. It was the last thing he'd wanted to hear, it was the last he'd wanted for Sara. As he lifted his head, he nodded, squaring his shoulders, "Do what you need to do."

Sara nodded a little, before turning and hurrying into the bedroom. She threw a suitcase on the bed and yanked open the top dresser drawer. A few shirts, some jeans, and underwaer were all that she packed. It was all she would need.

She dialed Sharon's number and wedged the cell phone between her shoulder and cheek as she finished packing. It rang twice before Sharon answered, "Everything okay?"

"I'm going to need to take you up on your offer," Sara said. "I need to get to Israel as soon as possible."

"Alright. I can have a flight arranged within the hour, and I'll text you the information," Sharon replied.

Sara exhaled. "Great, thank you."

"No problem. Be safe out there."

* * *

Sharon got Sara a flight to Israel leaving Regan National at two AM. It was the soonest flight to Israel she could manage. It wasn't difficult to pry herself from the city. Sara had never liked Washington D.C., but she'd stayed for a handful of reasons.

She found it a bit difficult to pry herself from Steve, however. Though, she warded off any changing of her mind by opting to take a cab to the airport, leaving the city alone. It was a twelve hour flight, roughly, travelling over five thousand miles.

The plane was set to land in Tel Aviv, at Dov Hoz Airport. But after twelve hours of sitting on an airplane, she arrived at her destination at five o'clock in the morning. Even flying in, the land looked different. But standing outside the airport was when she truly noticed the difference.

The buildings were tall, colorful. She could see their colors even in the bleak overcast of the early morning. The airport wasn't at all busy, but the people that did come through mostly looked to be tourists. The first time she saw an Israeli-born citizen was when she got into a cab.

She slid in, pulled the door closed. Her natural instinct was to speak English. After all, she'd been speaking it for many years now. Her second language was German but she learned English when she came to America.

Sara didn't want to seem like yet another tourist, but she honestly didn't care what the driver thought when she spoke in her native tongue, "ירושלים מלון גנים, בבקשה."

The driver seemed surprised for a flicker of a second. But his eyes narrowed slightly, before he twisted in his chair to get a better look at her. Then it seemed to dawn on him, whatever questioning was going on in his mind answered, and he smiled.

"אתה ריאלי!" he beamed.

Sara's lips pressed together in a thin line, the ends curving up in a small smile as she gave a singular nod. "כן זה אני," she answered.

"לאן שאתה רוצה ללכת, זה בחינם."

"הו, לא לא, זה בסדר, אני יכולה לשלם," Sara quickly refused, shaking her head. But the drive was adamant, stubborn in the fact that he would not charge her. He insisted, but Sara knew she would pay him as soon as they got to the hotel.

Their drive was filled with small talk about her transition to modern life, and how it must be difficult to see how much her city had changed. She agreed that it was quite different, but she wasn't about to dismiss it. Who knew, it might grow on her?

She hadn't seen the rest of the country yet. As they drove into West Jerusalem, the sun was rearing it's head above the horizon, lighting up the building for a better view. It was true that she hadn't spent much time in Tel Aviv as a child, but she had seen pictures.

Her mother always held onto a picture of downtown Tel Aviv, taken just before they left Israel for Germany. It painted a vision of how things should look. And this, albeit still rustic, was a drastically modern change.

They arrived at the hotel just after seven. The driver put the vehicle into park, and Sara dove a hand into her pocket for her wallet. "לא, לא, אתה לא חייב לי כסף, אני לא אקח," the driver immediately waved a hand. "דודי נספה באושוויץ, לא אקח את הכסף שלך."

Sara's shoulders dropped, but she slid her wallet away. She leaned foreword and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "תודה לך על טוב לבך."

The driver then reached for his neck, gripping the chain hanging there, and he tugged it over his head. He held it out to her, twisting in his chair. "קח את זה, אבא שלי עשה את זה אחרי שהוא שוחרר מבוכנוואלד, כשקפיטן אמריקה הרס אותה, אז את זוכרת שהמלחמה שלך לא היתה לשווא."

Sara was speechless for a moment. She remembered that day, rescuing those people. But she didn't think that news had spread this far yet. Regardless, she took the necklace, turned it over in her palm. It was a silver metal circle with a layer of glass covering scattered watch pieces.

She didn't know what the thought behind it was, but it was oddly mesmerizing. It had a kind of luring effect. She slipped it into her bag and opened her door, saying one last 'thank you' before stepping out. "Do you speak English?" she asked, leaning to see through the open passenger window.

The driver nodded with a smile. "Yes, I do."

"What is your name?" she asked, curiously.

He replied, "Grigore Lupu."

"What was your father's name?"

"Dumitru Lupu," he answered. "Though, he was mostly called Lu back then."

Sara smiled. "Oh! I remember your father. Lu was a very nice man. I helped him get transport to București- Bucharest. Do you have a way I can contact you? So we can keep in touch?"

"Yes, I have a number you can call or text. Anytime."

The man dug into the glove box of the car and fished out a pad of paper. Once he scribbled the number across it, he tore the page from the pad and gave it to her. She tucked it into her pocket with the necklace and stepped back from the car. "Shalom Aleichem, Grigore," she smiled.

"Aleichem Shalom, Sara," he returned the smile, before driving away from the curb.

Sara exhaled, letting her shoulders relax. That wasn't at all what she'd expected from her cab ride, but she was pleasantly surprised by how it turned out.

* * *

It was close to eleven am when she was able to visit her brother, during visiting hours. She checked in at the front desk, put the visitor sticker on her jacket, and followed a nurse through the hospital to his room.

On the way, the nurse explained a bit further about how he was doing. The nurse didn't know f he would remember her or not, but she was sure to warn Sara about what to do not to provoke him. In his state, it would only worsen his condition.

The gist was, the second he started looking agitated, Sara needed to leave. If he remembered her and was alright with her staying, she could stay as long as she wanted. Though it was disheartening, Sara agreed with the nurse.

Just as they were about to arrive at the room, a younger-looking man stepped into the hall. She'd never seen him before, but Sara recognized him in some respect. His curled, dark hair and strong features, with sun-kissed olive skin.

He noticed them a moment before they had approached. "Mr. Davidovsky," at the nurse's words, Sara's eyes flickered from the nurse to the man in front of her. This was Albert, her nephew. "This is-"

"Sara. I didn't think you would come," the man said, with a tone only to be categorized as genuine surprise. He held out his hand for her to shake and, hesitantly, she did. She was slow in her movements only from an overly observant sweep of her eyes.

She smile, closed-mouthed. "I was very surprised by your letter. But I needed to see my brother."

"He's been asking for you for some time," Albert admitted, a bit apologetic. "I didn't know who to contact. It took me many days to find somewhere to send that letter to. Please, come in."

He stepped aside, pulling open the door with a hand gesture, motioning for her to go inside. There was no doubt that Sara Riley, for the first time in seventy years, was nervous. But she mustered up the courage to take a step.

One step lead to another, and another, and then she was taking steps toward her brother's beside. He was sat upright, holding a book in his hands. His hands were withered, wrinkled, all skin and bone left.

His face was aged dramatically from when she'd last seen him. Deep set wrinkles and laugh lines, crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, and trenches in his skin on either side of his nose. The sight of him alone could have brought her to painful tears.

Though she kept walking, she wanted to stop. But then his still youthful irises turned her way and she truly couldn't breathe. His features carried a light across them then. "שרה! אחותי! אתה חי!," he exclaimed.

"הו, אייזק ... איך התגעגעתי אליך," she replied.

Sara arrived at his bedside and immediately he was placing his book down, reaching out his shaking hands for her, visibly overcome with emotion. She took his hands and sat beside him, trying to smile. Though, all she wanted to do was cry.

He was almost to tears himself. "It's been so long," he said, his voice a bit strained. He spoke with a moderate accent, making it even harder to understand him in English. "We never knew...what happened to you. We assumed you perished in the war."

"I did. Just not in the way you think. I was asleep, Isaac. For a long time," Sara nodded slowly, her eyes drifting down to the odd sensation of his hands.

His hands were rough, dry, calloused, and covered with rolls of loose skin. But Sara's were thin and feminine, smooth with tight skin. It was a baffling contrast. He was her same age and yet he'd lived lifetime longer. Sara couldn't pull her eyes from them for a moment longer.

Isaac may have been in his mid-eighties, but he was still incredibly perceptive. "You made a decision. A decision to help the innocent. One that came with an incredible sacrifice. And you carry that burden every day, yet still helping those who do not deserve it. Father would be proud," he said, looking into her downcast eyes. Though they didn't stay own for long. Her gaze flicked up, meeting his.

She smiled bitter sweetly, "Oh...I'm not too sure of that. Father fought for peace. I _killed_ for peace."

"No," he shook his head, adamantly. "The Nazis got what they deserved. If I were a super soldier, they would have gotten a lot more..." Sara couldn't fight a small chuckle. Then he continued, "That aside, you gave away your right to grow old so that we could continue to live our lives, the lives we deserved. In peace. Even if father is not proud where he is, I _am_."


End file.
